(II) Journey to Tibet

He turned to Wu Aizhen’s second diary, “Journey to Tibet.”

May 22

Today I shared a chartered car with others to return to Chengdu from Larung Gar Buddhist Academy. The driver kept chanting mantras the whole way (he said it was the mind mantra of Padmasambhava). The road was fairly open at first; I sat in the passenger seat. There were few pedestrians or vehicles. I saw only endless mountain ranges and the broad grasslands on either side. Scattered houses appeared here and there on the grasslands and in the mountain hollows, and I would occasionally see yaks.

The road gradually wound into the mountains; the car threaded through range after range. The swift Yarlung Tsangpo River ran alongside us the whole way.

Though we were still within Sichuan Province, the land and people were entirely Tibetan.

The mountains here were majestic and towering, steep ranges stretching endlessly. I often saw snow gleaming white on distant peaks. After a few hours, Tibetan pedestrians appeared along the road, all on foot. Sparse Tibetan houses began to multiply on both sides. Traveling through unending mountains, watching Tibetans in their grimy Tibetan cotton robes flash by the window, and gazing at the fortress-like Tibetan houses in distant hollows or open spaces, I tried to imagine their lives. Life inside those houses must have been monotonous and barren day after day. Probably just beef, mutton, tsampa, butter tea, and the rising and setting of the sun for a lifetime. In those scattered settlements I saw no sign of modernity or schools. How did their children receive an education? Probably in a town farther away, but transport was not convenient.

I thought that the people in these houses, though living such simple lives, also knew life’s bitterness and sweetness, suffering and happiness. They must have had fierce longings and dreams of leaving the mountains for the modern city. Their desire to leave the mountains was simply to escape backwardness, ignorance, and poverty. Relying on their own strength, how difficult it would be to break out of these seemingly endless mountains and merge into the vibrant city life beyond!

But did the mountain people really need to leave? Look at the civilized people living in modern cities. In the metropolis, they have every convenience to satisfy their desires. Yet faced with endless, swelling desires, they are at a loss. Irresistible temptations make them sell their souls, bodies, character, and dignity. When they have cast aside completely everything that makes a person human, they are lost, not knowing who they are or why they live, turned into walking corpses, drifting in the same sunrise and sunset as the mountain people, but with an added layer of weariness, anxiety, pressure, and loss.

I thought: now, when countless city people go into the mountains, they flee the noise, prosperity, competition, and clamor, hoping to feel the stillness of the mountains and grasslands, to take a deep breath, to catch their breath. When they see the ignorance, backwardness, and poverty of the mountain people, I wonder how many will feel proud of living in civilization, or find a sense of balance in what they have and what they lack.

Ah, human beings! Whether we live in civilized cities or in backward mountains, as long as our minds are ruled and controlled by desire, we are beneath notice. Our minds cannot soar freely; suffering is unbearable. And yet what a noble and sacred life the human being ought to be in this world!

May 23

I took a 1:30 p.m. flight to Lhasa Airport, a flight of one hour and fifty minutes, then the airport bus to Lhasa city; it was going on six when I arrived.

I remember the first time I came to Tibet, what struck me most as I got off the plane was the Tibetan sky — so high and distant, deep blue, almost cloudless. This time, maybe due to the season, I did not see that sky. But the distant snow mountains on the way to Lhasa moved me deeply. It could be said that during this period I had been traveling among mountains — from my retreat at Mount Tai to Mount Wutai, to Larung Gar, and now to Lhasa — I had seen so many mountains: majestic, solemn, beautiful, perilous, ethereal. But only Lhasa’s snow mountains gave me a sense of the sacred. I had not yet reached the Himalayas; I only saw from afar some snow mountains that were not even very high. Those mountains were bare, unadorned by trees, only the white snow on their summits reflecting brilliant sunlight. Yet when I looked at them, I felt their sacredness. Perhaps the Tibetan people had endowed these snow mountains with too much human meaning. They look up to them, worship them, give them human dignity. There they have stored their devout faith, their unending striving, perseverance, and passionate longing for a beautiful life…

I feel that in this world, whatever life is pure and undefiled — a tree, a blade of grass, a lake, a mountain — as long as it is pure and undefiled, it is sacred.

May 25

During sitting meditation in the afternoon, an image of Jigme Phuntsok, the Dharma King, suddenly appeared before me. At the same time, I saw prayer wheels revolving around my chest, back, and neck, and heard a voice chanting a mantra. I could only make out “svaha” at the end of the lines. After a while, I suddenly felt my body disappear, flesh and bones turning into the sutra texts wrapped inside the prayer wheels, with only a blue-red, thumb-thick hollow tube standing there. I also heard the sound of my own heartbeat coming from the vast sky.

The prayer wheels gradually vanished, and I became a transparent, ethereal body of light, seeing only a blue-red central channel. The channel appeared clearly below the neck, but at the neck, the light scattered; there was only blue-red light, unable to coalesce into the shape of a tube.

I suddenly transformed into an enormous body, sitting upright in the universe. The pores all over my body were like tiny caves, and I saw myself stretch out both arms, using the pores to absorb the breath of the universe.

I also saw that the crown of my head was open; light connected with the sky. Within the light above my head, there were sounds like the calls of wild geese passing by…

At the same time, I saw my body turn into countless hearts, each heart beseeching me, mixed with the sound of a woman weeping, and someone thrusting lit sandalwood incense sticks into my body.

Afterwards, my body remained like a transparent light body, sometimes like a large transparent crystal lampshade, with ethereal, weightless light condensed within, and the central channel like a wick glowing blue-red, held still within the light…

After rising from meditation, I continued reading.

In the evening, a fellow lay practitioner asked me to help build a mandala for them to make offerings in their practice. But in samadhi, when I mentioned this to the Dharma King, he said, “No. First, once a mandala is built, offerings must be made daily, and the heavenly protectors and vajra beings will come. The mandala you build is too much for them to bear; their arising and movement of thoughts is still very chaotic. You are now transforming your energy channels and can barely take care of yourself. You have no strength left to protect them. If their thoughts resonate with demons and there is no guru’s protection, external demons will be attracted. A mandala built by others would not have the same power as yours, but its drawbacks would also be smaller. Tell them to simply invite a statue of the World-Honored One and make offerings to that. Tell them that the majesty, stillness, and peace of the mind are the most supreme mandala. Dharma offering is the most supreme offering.”

I asked the Dharma King to grant them his blessing. He said, “Let their minds settle down first. We’ll see after a while. They want to seek the great Dharma but are unwilling to give the slightest effort. Their arising and movement of thoughts is problematic. You need not reproach them; they must reflect and awaken themselves. They all have spiritual roots. They will understand what is important and what is not.”

May 26

I set out after nine in the morning to pay homage at the Jokhang and Ramoche Temples. First I went to the Jokhang Temple. After walking around the main hall once, because it was too crowded, I first stood in the courtyard to bow to the Buddha.

I stood in the courtyard, palms together. As soon as I settled, I heard a voice from the sky saying, “Hayagriva is coming.” The voice rushed from the courtyard into the main hall. A moment later, a red carpet rolled out from inside, and many beings with horse heads knelt on both sides of the carpet in welcome. In the sky, many blue-skinned dakinis flew, spraying water and scattering flowers. I saw myself suddenly transform into Hayagriva: legs spread apart in a horse stance—and they were horse legs. The neck was a horse’s neck, but longer than an ordinary horse’s, twisted to the right, sleek and strong like the spine of a dragon. The horse head twisted its neck and let out a long neigh. The body was adorned with many ornaments. I entered the main hall, saw the twelve-year-old life-size statue of the Buddha, and circumambulated it, bowing.

At that moment, countless bodhisattvas and Dharma kings gathered in the sky, like a great Dharma assembly. On a tall throne in the center sat Shakyamuni Buddha.

I returned to my present form, stepped forward, and prostrated to the World-Honored One…

After emerging from samadhi, I went into the hall to bow to the Buddha. While bowing in the Great Hero Hall, I saw the Buddha statues suddenly vanish and turn into an enormous stone, prayer flags hanging above it, with the Four Heavenly Kings sitting upright in the sky. Every time I entered a small shrine, khata scarves would always drift down from the sky onto my neck, and vajra beings and Dharma kings would return my bow. When I approached the life-size statue of the World-Honored One and prostrated, I heard rolling thunder from the sky, yet it did not quite sound like thunder—more like the vibration of an immense object. A voice came from the sky: “Bodhisattva, reaching this hall, the Dharma body is complete…” And in the sky appeared countless thousand-petaled jeweled lotuses. I saw myself sitting upright on a jeweled lotus.

After leaving the Jokhang Temple, I had lunch at a nearby restaurant and then invited a statue of Tsongkhapa, two Child-Granting Guanyin figures, a long horn, and an incense burner. After the meal, I went to the Ramoche Temple. Before the eight-year-old life-size statue of the World-Honored One, I saw myself transform into Hayagriva again, while the statue of the World-Honored One turned into a child, pointing a finger to the sky and saying, “In the heavens above and on earth below, I alone am honored.” Suddenly the statue grew immense, filling the entire void and radiating ten thousand golden rays. I felt myself pierced and melted by the golden light. While bowing in a small shrine, a voice said, “Yeshe Tsogyal is coming.”

The World-Honored One gave Hayagriva two gifts: one was a pair of golden wings for Hayagriva, the other was a wish-fulfilling banner, like a jeweled canopy.

On the way, when I bowed to the statue of Tsongkhapa, the master appeared and returned the bow, then gave Hayagriva a black medicinal pill, saying it was to adjust the body. I saw Hayagriva take it and stick it into his right nostril…

May 27

Last night I was reading the Dharma songs in “The King of Buddhist Cultivation and Realization in Tibet: A Biography of the Great Master Ra Lotsawa”:

All worldly and transcendent things are not truly existent. Because of deep-seated habit-energies of perceived objects and consciousness, Confused illusions appear in the mind. Illusions arise from the mind; the mind is empty and void, without form. The nature of mind is luminous; the luminous light of mind is the Dharma body. The Dharma body’s nature is without birth or death; There is no life or death, no good or evil. Evil karma’s nature is also emptiness. What harm or benefit can emptiness do to emptiness? Although illusions are not without cause and effect, By visualizing the body of the Buddha in meditation And reciting profound secret mantras, No karmic obstacle remains that cannot be dissolved. Although there are many methods to dissolve karma, Practicing the Vajrabhairava dharma Has incomparable power to dissolve karma. The reason is that dissolving karmic obstacles Relies on the wisdom that sees the emptiness of the two selves; Manjushri Vajra, the great fear-inspiring one, Is itself the wisdom body of all Buddhas.

When I had read halfway through, body and mind suddenly vanished. I found myself in a crystalline, pure brightness, and even toward that brightness I had no attachment or dwelling—utterly ethereal. That is why I have excerpted it here.

May 28

Today is my birthday. I woke up after seven in the morning and went to circumambulate the Potala. There were many people doing the circumambulation. I took a taxi from the hotel and got off at the eastern wall of the Potala, then began to walk slowly with the circling crowd. After about half a circuit, I suddenly heard a very loud voice chanting a mantra from the sky. I looked up and saw, above the Potala, an enormous prayer wheel. Then an image of the Panchen Lama flashed in the sky, and after that a half-length image of a dharma king with an unfamiliar face appeared next to the prayer wheel. The wheel revolved on its own, and the dharma king was singing loudly in Tibetan, melodious. I bowed to the sky.

Suddenly I felt as though I were looking down on the whole of Tibet, and I saw myself circling the Potala. My body was just an illusory appearance, and the entire Potala, along with the bustling crowd of circumambulators and street vendors, seemed like an illusory realm in the sky that might vanish at any moment.

When I reached a lane behind the back wall of the Potala, there were many vendors selling meat, eggs, local specialties, and daily necessities. The lane was a little dirty and chaotic. In the state of samadhi, I perceived everything with clarity. I sensed that the people around me had their hearts tightly bound to this filthy place, their minds sinking downwards, degenerating, without light, unaware that they were in an illusory realm, truly suffering hardship and calamity. I felt my own body become hollow, with only a white pillar of light at the heart center. I myself was not in my body—I had remained unmoving in empty space the whole time, formless, watching the illusory arising and ceasing of worlds.

At nine o’clock, the prayer wheel above the Potala disappeared. The dharma king’s image and chanting had already ceased by half past eight. At that moment, I had just completed a little more than one circuit.

On the second circuit, I saw that far to the east, above the mountain ridges, half the sky suddenly turned as brilliant as the sun and moon shining together—not like sky at all, but as if sun and moon were reflecting each other, giving off a pale yellow light, and the sky itself was like a huge precious gem. Then, from that part of the sky, an enormous portrait of Shakyamuni Buddha descended, and above the portrait two lines of Tibetan script appeared: “May all sentient beings suffering in this world be auspicious, fortunate, and happy!” (roughly that meaning). As the characters appeared, I saw two dragons holding bright pearls in their mouths as they soared and danced, and two phoenixes holding precious ewers in their beaks, soaring with wings spread, tilting the ewers to sprinkle water down upon the people. Then countless black doves flew out of the sky, each holding a small branch in its beak (olive branches), symbolizing world peace. Then I saw the White-Robed Guanyin standing in the sky with a pure vase, sprinkling water with a willow branch, and on the ground living beings of every kind knelt in all directions… I heard a voice in the sky say, “Guanyin Bodhisattva is now holding a blessing Dharma Gathering.” This Dharma Gathering continued until past eleven o’clock.

After I had made two circuits, I went with several lay practitioners by pedal tricycle to a restaurant for a meal. Along the way, I saw two devis holding precious vases in their arms, flying alongside the cart all the way. I glanced at them, and a huge precious vase descended from the sky. A goddess appeared before me and said, “The Goddess of the Sacred Lake wishes the Bodhisattva a happy birthday!” I returned the greeting and the goddess vanished.

At the restaurant, I saw Manjushri Bodhisattva and Khenpo Jigme Phuntsok sitting at the table with me. After a little while, the Eight Immortals and the Celestial Worthy of the Primordial Beginning appeared in the sky to offer congratulations; the Jade Emperor also manifested, while devis scattered flowers. Venerable Milarepa arrived, placed a piece of cow dung on the stove chimney of the hot pot, and helped build a magnificent golden mandala, while jeweled canopies and banners filled the sky.

The Great Karmapa appeared to offer congratulations and gave me a green gemstone about the size of an egg.

The World Honored One’s form then appeared in the sky, attended by a vast retinue, while a rain of blossoms fell from above, and a devi offered me a khata, wishing me a happy birthday and peace year after year. Drumbeats sounded in the sky along with celestial music, and a huge pure lapis lazuli vase appeared. Countless Sanskrit characters also appeared in the sky, shining with golden light. The World Honored One’s form multiplied into innumerable bodies that filled the void, while the sound of Sanskrit chanting rose up—the World Honored One was bestowing blessings. My heart chakra began to emit golden light. A beam of light shot from the heart chakra, becoming a white pillar of light in the sky, then instantly radiating a seven-colored glow. The Tibetan and Sanskrit characters in the sky streamed into this pillar of light, which then turned golden. From within the light a lotus bloomed, shifting through white, gold, and seven-color radiance, accompanied by celestial music.

Then I saw Khenpo Jigme Phuntsok’s palms shining with light as he rose into the sky, pressed his palms together, and a prayer wheel appeared in his hands. The prayer wheel instantly transformed into a small ceremonial drum, and a drumbeat sounded. The Khenpo sang an auspicious hymn in Tibetan.

Manjushri Bodhisattva transformed in the sky into the wrathful form of Yamantaka, spewing flames from his mouth, holding severed heads in both hands, shooting blue light from his eyes, and uttering terrifying sounds. A swastika wheel appeared on his chest, spinning. A dense rain of small swords fell from the sky, and a voice said, “May the Bodhisattva use the great wrathful power to conquer demonic forces as she spreads the Dharma.”

Then the sound of tinkling jade ornaments and wind chimes came from the sky as twelve Taras arrived, offering white conches, gems, Dharma instruments, pearls, agates, and all kinds of treasures. Their skin tones varied; the woman leading them had blue skin.

Suddenly a long howl echoed through the sky, like an ape’s cry. A Dharma King with a serpent’s head on a human body, riding on the back of a great striped tiger, slowly approached from the sky and presented a precious red coral. I transformed into the form of Hayagriva and accepted the gift.

At that moment the earth split open and a stupa welled up from the ground. Bells on the stupa rang, and within the stupa a Buddha sat and sang, “Bodhisattva, happy birthday!” The stupa emitted white light, shining like the sun and moon, and the distant mountains all glowed with golden light.

Then an abundance of delicacies appeared in the sky—Guanyin Bodhisattva was holding a ganachakra feast. Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, arhats, and vajra beings gathered, while fountains continuously sprayed water from the sky. At the center of the feast ground a huge gemstone kept revolving, emitting seven-colored light and thin mist.

Devis continuously scattered flowers above the table where we were eating, and I used my mental power to bless a cup of barley wine, then moistened my fingers and flicked it toward them. A throng of dakinis surged forward, picked up the wine cup and drank, saying, “This is wine blessed by Guanyin Bodhisattva—it’s like nectar.” Several dakinis added spices to our hot pot.

In the distance I saw Samantabhadra Buddha, drawing nearer and nearer. He appeared in male form, wearing a jeweled crown on his head, and said, “Look what I’ve brought you.” Turning around, he untied two buckets from his elephant’s back—square wooden buckets filled with water, deep and bottomless like secluded springs. “These are two deep pools from Mount Emei. I’ve brought them to Tibet to wish you a happy birthday, so you can drink sweet dew every day in Tibet.” At that, both Samantabhadra and I laughed heartily.

In the sky, a monk’s staff shook, its attached rings chiming, as Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva strode over, dressed like the Tang Monk Tripitaka. “Amitabha! This old monk is late with his birthday wishes. I offer the Bodhisattva a gold card.” As he spoke, a gold card bearing a Buddha image appeared in his hand, emitting seven-colored light. Ksitigarbha said, “This gold card will ensure that your treasury is never exhausted, and its resources never run dry.” I accepted the card and thanked Ksitigarbha.

On the way back to the hotel, I suddenly felt extremely drowsy and completely drained of strength. The moment I entered the room, I collapsed onto the bed and fell fast asleep. When I woke and checked my watch, I had slept only about half an hour. But it was the most comfortable sleep I’d had since entering Tibet. The tightness in my chest was much less; only my nostrils were dry and sore. I lay lazily in bed, resting with eyes closed. Suddenly a voice outside the window said, “Bodhisattva, happy birthday!” I looked out and saw a large golden bird, somewhere between an eagle and a parrot, also somewhat resembling the large bird on the crown of Shakyamuni Buddha. It coughed up an oval red pill for me and immediately flew away. In the sky, there were many lovely bird calls, sounding like drops of water falling into a deep pool, with delicate tinkling tones.

In a daze, I swallowed that pill. I felt red flames ignite in my throat; after the flames subsided, something like water welled up from below to above in my neck, wave after wave.

At that point my mind cleared again, so I got up and began consecrating the Buddha statues and other items set on the table.

I sat upright on the bed, facing the offering table directly. On the table were Buddha statues, Dharma instruments, malas, and the like.

I quieted myself. A seven-colored halo of light appeared around my body and head, and then I suddenly transformed into the form of Hayagriva, enormously tall. I could clearly see the broad silver necklace adorning the horse’s neck and chest, studded with gems.

Hayagriva twisted his neck and let out a long neigh. Then I saw Buddha statues, Dharma instruments, malas—everything that needed consecration, identical to those on the offering table—rain down from the sky and merge one by one with the items on the table. On the table were four prayer wheels; a very large prayer wheel descended and merged into the four placed side by side. On the lid of the incense burner crouched a small bronze lion; I saw a robust blue lion slowly descend from the sky onto the incense burner lid and merge with the little bronze lion. At that moment, all the items on the offering table emitted brilliant golden light that pierced through the building and shot into the void. The two pearls in the water cup danced, and the long horn and the bell both sounded. I came out of samadhi; the consecration was complete. I ate three peaches from the offerings.

May 29

Got up at seven in the morning with mild diarrhea. During the diarrhea, I inwardly observed my entire body’s channels, and saw black and gray foul currents flowing out along with the stool.

I ate nothing in the morning, only drinking a cup of tea. I finished reading The Biography of Master Ralo: King of Tibetan Buddhist Practitioners, then began sitting meditation.

From Shantideva’s Guide to the Bodhisattva’s Way of Life:

“One must not be arrogant or contemptuous toward others, but toward one’s own inner enemies—greed, anger, delusion, and the rest—one should be arrogant and contemptuous and determined to conquer them. Cultivation is a process of self-transformation; one must wage a life-and-death struggle against one’s own greed, anger, delusion, doubt, arrogance, and false views, suppressing and gradually eliminating these afflictions and the roots of degeneration. For a practitioner, overcoming the stubborn defilements that cover the luminous Buddha-nature within is the greatest spiritual power and supranormal power.”

The Kalachakra teachings say that the human body has 72,000 energy channels, divided into three categories: 24,000 are essence channels through which vital essence flows; 24,000 are blood channels through which blood circulates; 24,000 are wind channels through which the winds move—each one third of the total. The Kalachakra also says that starting from the fifth month after birth, two channels perish each day. After one hundred years, all 72,000 channels are dead; without special causes—such as good maintenance and cultivation—there would be no conditions for survival.

The whole afternoon I read, except for a moment when my eyes suddenly felt extremely dry and tired, so I closed the book to rest. Half asleep, I suddenly saw golden circular halos inside both eyes, followed by golden light shooting outward. A moment later, my whole body suddenly seemed to catch fire—there was no intense heat, but the entire network of channels throughout my body seemed to blaze with flames, like transparent mirage fires, and within the central channel there were countless white flashing points. I sat up on the bed to meditate. First I took several deep breaths, regulated my breathing, then stilled my mind. At that point, the flames in my body vanished and turned into three seven-colored light wheels. Inside each wheel seemed to be Esoteric Buddhist statues, which then transformed into deities in union and wrathful deities. My mind grew more and more settled; the Buddha images disappeared, my body became a luminous form, and I vanished into transparent, colorless light, though I could still hear my own breathing and the movement of energy channels, sounding like a strong wind howling. After a while, the skin on my neck became very itchy, then my ears itched too, and there was seven-colored light in my neck. I came out of samadhi.

May 30

On Prejudice

Nowadays, many people who practice Buddhism have not undergone any rigorous practical training, yet they point fingers and pass judgment on the teachings, doctrines, schools, and sects of a Buddhism that has been transmitted for over two thousand years. The Exoteric School criticizes the Esoteric School, the Esoteric School scorns the Exoteric School, Hinayana slanders Mahayana, Mahayana denigrates Hinayana—and the arguments grow ever fiercer, as if they would gladly sacrifice themselves for the “propagation of the true Dharma” and sweep away all “heretical paths” with their “righteous spirit.” What they fail to realize is that these people have already “died” within the very schools and doctrines they cling to.

The Buddha’s teachings and principles reveal the truth of the universe and can withstand the test of kalpas as numerous as the sands of the Ganges. Their depth and breadth cannot be understood or articulated merely by the sentient beings of this Saha world relying on a little cleverness or erudition, or by interpreting words with the greed-, anger-, and delusion-tainted six sense faculties of eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind. Moreover, from its inception, Buddhism has traversed more than two thousand years. In different periods of time and space, in different geographical and social environments, the forms in which it will appear to rescue and liberate sentient beings—this too is not something people who rigidly cling to “ancient dogmas” and “dead principles” can understand.

How the propagation of the Buddha-dharma in this Saha world can, at different points in time and space and in different human environments, suit the capacities and principles of sentient beings so as to spread the Dharma—that is the truly perfect and integrated practice. Otherwise, one only obstructs the transmission and propagation of the true Dharma.

There was a time when Mahayana Buddhism, confined within the scope of “scholastic philosophy” and burdened with a complex, hair-splitting style of debate, became cut off from the broad masses, causing Mahayana to gradually decline in India, while Hinduism, by synthesizing the various doctrines of the time (including Buddhism), revived and flourished. In order to adapt to the new situation and reverse its own decline, Mahayana Buddhism actively drew closer to Hinduism and Brahmanism, and began to adopt what it had once fiercely criticized, such as concepts like “averting disasters, invoking blessings, and secret mantras,” rationalizing and Buddhistifying them, eventually forming a relatively independent Esoteric Buddhist system. Hence, early Esoteric Buddhism incorporated Hindu elements. When Esoteric Buddhism spread into Tibet, it engaged in fierce struggle with the region’s traditional religious force, Bon. Finally, in order to take root in the Western Regions and benefit sentient beings, it blended certain Bon rituals, procedures, and content into some of its own forms of transmission. Yet the masters who propagated Esoteric Buddhism in Tibet at that time faced dual persecution from exoteric Buddhist monastics on one side and Bon followers and their representatives on the other. The Bon followers accused them of spreading Buddhism, while the Buddhists accused them of propagating Bon. One example is Master Vairocana, who carried forward the Vajrayana esoteric teachings in Tibet after Guru Padmasambhava; his lifetime of hardship in propagating the Dharma speaks for itself. But it was precisely these masters, who refused to “follow stale conventions,” who, through their flexibility in the forms of Dharma propagation and their skillful means in teaching, allowed the true Dharma to appear in the vast snowlands in the form of “Tibetan Esoteric Buddhism,” where it took root, sprouted, bore fruit, and continues to benefit the sentient beings of that snowy region to this day. Countless eminent monks and great adepts have attained accomplishment through the practice of the esoteric teachings—figures such as Milarepa, Master Ralo, Tsongkhapa, Yeshe Tsogyal, and others. Their deeds are widely known even in the Han regions. Who can deny the historical reality of their existence? And they themselves would absolutely never admit to being Hindus or Bonpos; they are true Buddhists. Because no matter how the form of Dharma transmission changes, no matter how skillfully it adapts to capacities, the essence and spirit of Buddhism remain ever the same.

A true Buddhist, therefore, must put the Buddha’s teachings into practice while studying the doctrine. Only then can you cast off every kind of bias — not cling to “dead doctrine,” not parrot what others say, not blindly deny other people’s experiences and views, not blindly reject other schools and traditions, and not go on to blindly slander genuine accomplished ones. For they understand the capacities of beings in the Dharma-Ending Age better than you do; they know better how to propagate the Buddhadharma in a way that meets the moment, so that more beings can board the Dharma vessel. To lead all children out of the “burning house of the five poisons,” the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas may employ every kind of skillful means, every kind of promise, every kind of toy to entice sentient beings. If you lack the wisdom eye, if the five poisons still blaze within your body and mind, if you have yet to find peace, if you still harbor doubts in the face of birth and death — then shut your mouth, guard every arising thought and impulse, and at the very least bring your own body and mind to purity first. Do not disdain the merit and blessings of the human and heavenly vehicles. In the Dharma-Ending Age, most beings are on the verge of losing even that meager portion of blessings; do not add further to your own karma of speech. If the demon king can don a monk’s robe to seduce the sons and grandsons of the Buddha, can the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas not manifest the form of a demon king to subdue the demon’s sons and grandsons? What form are you clinging to — demon form, Buddha form, or the mark of written words? Have your Six Sense-Organs been purified? Has your body and mind come into accord with the Way? Has your Dharma practice given rise to extraordinary merit? Only then are you qualified to deny others, to “disparage” other schools and traditions. Otherwise, which teachings come from the Buddha and which from demons, which is the right path and which the wrong — these are not things a “person” whose mind is heavily defiled and whose Six Faculties are impure can discern. Better to hope that with every arising thought, you diminish bias, jealousy, and anger, and accumulate merit and blessings, so that you may come into accord with the Loving Kindness, Compassion, and universal love of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, come into accord with wholesome dharma, plant wholesome causes, and ultimately reap wholesome fruits.

May 31

I got up a little after six-thirty this morning and went to the Potala Palace to circumambulate and turn the prayer wheels. I noticed that the giant prayer wheel had appeared again in the sky above the Potala Palace, but the Dharmaraja who had chanted sutras the previous time never showed himself.

I did not carry a hand-held prayer wheel; I simply recited the six-syllable mantra “Om Mani Padme Hum” with my mouth, gathered my mind, and walked step by step. After ten minutes or so, my body began to turn into light — weightless and transparent. Gradually, the light too faded into nothingness, and only at the heart cakra did there seem to be a spinning prayer wheel. A few minutes later, the prayer wheel dissolved into countless specks of light spinning at tremendous speed, revolving around a section of white light like a flower’s pistil, and I heard the rumbling roar of the earth turning.

On the second circuit, people asking for alms began to multiply. Following the example of those around me, I changed a fifty-yuan note into one-jiao coins, and whenever I saw someone asking for money, I gave them one jiao. The supplicants included women, children, the elderly, the disabled, lamas, and others. Because my mind held no marks and my eyes perceived no marks, the giving was empty and the receiving was empty. One coin after another passed from my hand, as if everyone were playing a game of passing paper money.

As I walked the circuit giving alms, my body and mind slowly dissolved. A warmth spread through my whole body; every cell seemed to be a heart shimmering with light.

I felt myself disappearing. I was not even transparent light anymore, nor did I abide in any state whatsoever — no obstruction, no hindrance, no abiding.

Only in the greedy eyes of beings receiving alms, in their habitually blank expressions, in the suffering of beings bound by every kind of desire did compassion arise anew within me — and it grew heavier and heavier, a force so strong it made every step difficult, made me want to weep but find no tears, made it hard to breathe…

I returned to the hotel after ten in the morning and, rather than sitting in meditation, leafed through a book. In the book, I saw that the author’s view of the Esoteric School was reasonably sound, yet his view was not complete: he harbored biases against the words and deeds of certain Chan patriarchs — such as their scolding the Buddha and reviling the patriarchs, or their koan-style exchanges. In truth, all Dharma doors are skillful means devised to guide beings of different capacities. Knowing this, what is there to cling to? This was also why the author could not truly understand the level of realization of the Chan patriarchs, nor the capacities of the disciples they had been guiding.

In truth, choosing to practice Chan or Esoteric Buddhism simply means that beings of different capacities enter the door from different starting points. Once they have crossed the threshold and entered the inner hall, any accomplished master will surely cast aside sectarian views. No single school or tradition is more complete or more supreme than any other.

June 1

On the path of cultivation, loving our enemies and loving those who hate and detest us does not mean that we refrain from guarding against them in worldly affairs. If we did, we would accomplish nothing at all.

A Bodhisattva loves sentient beings the way we still revere, love, and feel gratitude toward our parents even knowing their flaws — the way parents still love, care for, guide, and teach their children even knowing the children misbehave and have gone astray.

To love sentient beings yet know their deep-rooted failings, to know which beings want to nail you to a cross, to know which kinds of beings will become stumbling blocks on your Bodhisattva path — to discern all this clearly, that is the wisdom of a Bodhisattva, that is wise love for sentient beings.

Perfect, wise love is founded upon emptiness nature; it is not pity, sympathy, romantic attachment, or any other worldly emotion. Take the example of the Tibetan master Ra Lotsawa: he used the method of “killing” to deal with certain “masters” who were obstructing the propagation of the true Dharma, liberating them directly to Manjushri’s Buddha Land. This is wise love founded upon emptiness nature — love free of any hindrance or personal feeling. He did not fear the slander or condemnation of others. With his own powers and supranormal abilities, he swept away obstacles to the propagation of the true Dharma, protected the true Dharma, and protected the good knowing advisors who spread it. In doing so, he spared the Buddhadharma, as it developed as a worldly undertaking, many unnecessary losses, and saved the time and energy that would have been wasted on needless disputes…

In the morning, I read the Biography of the Most Venerable Master Tsongkhapa.

June 3

I slept poorly last night and did not fall asleep until nearly four in the morning.

During this period, my sense of world-weariness has been too strong. Watching the spectacle of sentient beings caught in the seven emotions and six desires, observing the world’s bustling splendor pass like clouds before my eyes, seeing all things arise and perish, reading books in which “eminent masters and great worthies” cross verbal swords over a single point of view, not hesitating to belittle one another with caustic, cutting language — amid all this, in my stillness, I sometimes feel a profound coldness and aversion arise. Moments when compassion arises have been exceedingly rare.

June 4

Went to the Potala Palace early to circumambulate. The weather had turned cold, but there were still quite a few people walking the kora.

In the sky, Dharmaraja Jigme Phuntsok performed another simple Dharma ceremony for my study of the Esoteric teachings and my empowerment. The esoteric teachings place great importance on dependent origination.

First, a huge drum appeared in the sky above the Potala Palace. After someone struck it, a half-length image of the Dharmaraja appeared in the air. In the distant sky, the goddess of the holy lake appeared, with two attendant maidens carrying an enormous treasure vase, while two phoenixes held the corners of a yellow cloth in their beaks — on the cloth were written in Tibetan the words “Welcome, Bodhisattva” and the like. The goddess had the treasure vase tilted downward, and countless jewels rained down from the sky like droplets. The sky on both sides seemed shrouded in fiery sunset clouds, glowing with red light. The Dharmaraja began singing a soaring hymn in Tibetan, joined by the female voice of a consort singing in harmony.

In time with the drumbeats and singing, an image of Master Tsongkhapa rose slowly from the Potala Palace — identical to the image I kept and made offerings to in my room, but enormous, seeming to fill half the sky.

I thought this probably meant I was to receive the lineage of Master Tsongkhapa. Then, in the eastern sky, I saw a giant appliqué thangka of Shakyamuni Buddha appear, surrounded by countless esoteric Dharma Protectors, vajra beings, dakinis, and the like.

The goddess pouring out the treasure vase symbolized wealth and a rain of Dharma.

After the Dharmaraja’s song faded, the great drum and the other visions slowly disappeared as well, and many letters of the Tibetan alphabet appeared in the sky, whose meaning I did not know.

After the drum vanished, the giant prayer wheel that appeared every day manifested once more above the Potala Palace, spinning without cease.

These last few days I have been reading books like King of Tibetan Buddhist Cultivation and Realization: Biography of Master Ra Lotsawa and the Biography of the Most Venerable Master Tsongkhapa. These books all record the cultivation and realization of each master, along with abundant accounts of their displays of spiritual power and their propagation of the Dharma for the benefit of beings. Every reader, while filled with reverence and admiration, also envies the masters’ innate dharma connections. Yet the books never mention the state of each master’s heart and mind before they began studying the Dharma. I believe that before any of these masters encountered the Buddhadharma, even in their youth, they must already have been people who acted with fairness and selflessness, who practiced Loving-Kindness, Compassion, Joy, and Equanimity, who distinguished clearly between good and evil. Some were honest and unadorned, not knowing what it meant to be taken advantage of; some were innocent and straightforward, as open as uncarved jade. Only with such hearts could they receive the loving regard of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas; only thus could such extraordinary dharma connections descend upon them. Only hearts such as these deserve to be called Dharma instruments, for whatever precious Dharma is poured into them will never be adulterated. And once the seeds of Buddhadharma are sown in such a heart, they swiftly blossom and bear fruit.

And these great masters — perhaps when they first began to study the Dharma, they too had greed, anger, and delusion; they too had the seven emotions and six desires. But at the critical moment, their hearts always transcended worldly norms. So in the red dust of the world, their conduct likewise surpassed ordinary sentiment. The instant they beheld the ultimate truth of the Buddhadharma, they advanced with the fierce vigor of a lion pouncing on its prey, able to leap free of worldly attachments in a single moment, able to forget the self in pursuit of truth. And all of this was built upon the fact that from the very beginning, they possessed a heart that shone brilliantly in this Perilous World of the Five Turbidities, a heart as precious as gold. When the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas looked upon them, it was as though they saw a jewel among gravel — they cherished and protected them. A person with such a heart is destined to become the favored child of the sacred Dharma.

The mind methods of the various exoteric schools and the mind-secret of the Esoteric School are not different — there is only one. This is the ultimate truth of the Buddhadharma. The differences among Dharma doors are only spoken to suit beings of different capacities; they merely give beings of different capacities a starting point in their cultivation and realization. Once you have crossed the threshold and entered the inner hall, you will know the landscape inside for yourself — what language can say will always fall short. Those who have never reached the summit can never arrive at completeness through hearsay alone. If you wish to debate others and persuade them, ask yourself whether you still harbor doubt, whether you can truly transcend birth and death, whether you can truly be your own master, whether you know where you came from at birth and where you go at death. Only when you can truly see the dependent origination of life and the nature of the universe from the Buddha’s perfect vantage point — only then do you have the standing and the capital to persuade others. Otherwise, argument is utterly meaningless.

Perhaps we can understand in theory that form and emptiness are not two, understand the Patience with the Non-production of Dharmas, understand the state of Neither Arising Nor Ceasing. But if you have yet to experience and realize these truths, then this “understanding” is incomplete. Your view is still a hundred thousand miles from the view of the Buddha.

June 5

Today I read about Master Tsongkhapa’s experiences of cultivation and realization in the Biography of the Most Venerable Master Tsongkhapa, and they closely resembled my own practice. I excerpt them below:

The master once said: “Now, through the power of wholesome cultivation and familiarity, even in the post-meditation state (that is, when not seated in formal meditation), I can see that all various phenomena are by nature empty and arise like illusions, and ordinary appearances not sealed by the recognition of emptiness (that is, appearances that ordinary people perceive as truly existing) can for the most part no longer arise.” The master’s Song of Realization also says:

Abiding in samadhi, emptiness is like empty space; Post-meditation, the emptiness of illusion-like appearance — Having cultivated thus, one practices the union of illusion and emptiness, Praising the Bodhisattva’s journey to the other shore.

Knowing thus this partial path, My heart, unsatisfied, will never stop there; I will also cultivate the rules of all favorable connections — I hope you too can practice in this way.

In the afternoon, I sat in meditation, chanting only the syllable “Om” and visualizing the syllable Om lined up inside the central channel from the crown cakra all the way down to the perineum. When I vocalized it, Om vibrated, and the energy currents of the entire central channel vibrated as well. In an instant, a white column of light arose, and as the light column vibrated, I felt every cell of my body vibrating with it. The scattered energies within my body automatically merged into the main channel with the vibration, correcting themselves naturally. After only a short while of chanting, my whole body grew hot and was completely transformed into blazing white light. It seemed as though the entire universe was vibrating along with it, and my body and mind dissolved into the whole of the universe…

June 6

It rained last night. When I opened the window, a rush of cool, crisp air met my face. Through the window, I saw that the surrounding mountains had all been capped with a blanket of white snow. Midway up the slopes, rising mist formed streaks of white cloud twining around the peaks, and soon sky and clouds merged, the gleaming white summits disappearing into the cloud cover.

It was already June, and to be able to see snow on the low hills near Lhasa was a delight to the eyes and heart. Outside the window lay a school playground, very broad, covered with a soft green lawn. Many trees had been planted around the campus and along the edges of the field, and they were now lush and verdant. The distant snowy mountains, set off by the vivid green of the trees, looked all the more sacred and wondrous.

I found that whenever I looked at Tibet’s snowy mountains — whether tall or short, whatever their shape — a spontaneous feeling of love welled up in me.

In the morning, I went to Drepung Monastery on pilgrimage. The entrance to Drepung Monastery sits at the foot of the mountain, but to reach the main halls further back, one must climb a long staircase that winds and twists its way nearly halfway up the mountainside.

In the first hall, there was a lofty throne of the Fifth Dalai Lama. I offered some money on the throne. When I closed my eyes to prostrate, I saw a golden door suddenly open in the space above the throne, and from the door a dazzling golden throne was pushed out. At that moment, two lamas of majestic bearing appeared, holding golden pitchers and conferring empowerment upon me. My body became transparent. Then someone placed a five-buddha crown on my head; I stepped onto a lotus, ascended the throne, and donned lama’s robes, manifesting a male form. I heard the sounds of wooden fish, drums, and bells resounding in the sky… and a voice said: “May the Bodhisattva widely propagate the Buddha Dharma and benefit the sentient beings of the Snow Land…” Above my head, celestial flowers rained down.

Continuing on, I came to a hall with a mural of Venerable Atisha on the wall, and I prostrated. Suddenly the wall turned into empty space. Venerable Atisha sat in that empty space, took a stack of books, and handed them to me, saying: “These are the Lamp for the Path to Enlightenment and the Great Treatise on the Stages of the Path to Enlightenment. I hope you will benefit the sentient beings of the Snow Land.” He extended his right arm and with his hand performed empowerment upon me. I saw my entire body turn golden, and a golden lotus bloomed at my perineum cakra. Venerable Atisha said: “You shall be the Golden Guanyin.”

Then I saw the venerable one withdraw his arm, adjust the robe that had slipped from his shoulder, and the image suddenly vanished.

Further along, I entered a hall where many Buddha images I could not recognize were enshrined. There was a Dharma Protector image whose hand seemed to hold a heart; it looked terrifying. I made a prostration. Suddenly I saw the heart, liver, and all the internal organs within my body fly out into the air, with the intestines still slightly attached to me. Only my head and two legs remained. In that instant, the horror disappeared. Looking at my own organs was exactly like looking at the hearts and livers of animals laid out in a slaughterhouse. I felt no attachment or craving for this physical body whatsoever. In a flash, those organs flew back into my body. I bowed again to that Dharma Protector Vajra, thanking him for his blessing.

When I entered the hall enshrining Amitayus, I saw the image before me suddenly sprouted layer upon layer of heads, and they kept multiplying. I was a little surprised and didn’t understand. Then I heard a voice say: “The Bodhisattva has a thousand hands and a thousand eyes, but I have one thousand and eighty heads. I wish the Bodhisattva long life.” Following this voice, I saw Amitayus extended countless arms and touched the crowns of my head and the heads of everyone around me.

When I prostrated in other Buddha halls, the hands of many Buddhas and Bodhisattvas rested upon me in blessing. I often saw my whole body radiant with light or emitting golden rays.

In the last hall, enshrined with the great yidam Yamantaka, as I prostrated I suddenly saw myself transform into black Yamantaka. From the sky a bell and a vajra fell; I caught them in my left and right hands. My bull’s head tossed toward the sky, and I let out two mighty roars. A voice said: “You have received the Ra lineage transmission…” And in the sky countless golden lotuses appeared, faintly revealing the images of all the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas…

I heard a lama say that inside the Yamantaka image there was “the physical body of Ra Lotsawa.”

In the outer hall of Yamantaka, I offered the lama some money and asked for a pot of butter tea. Sitting on a red cushion in the great hall, holding the butter tea, breathing in its rich, fragrant aroma, I gazed at the rows of butter lamps before me. Behind the gently flickering bright flames, the walls were painted in vivid colors with Tibetan Buddhist images. My mind was pure and natural, as if I had turned into a simple Tibetan, blending into the local customs and ancient history of Tibetan Buddhism…

Leaving Drepung Monastery, I acquired a four-armed Avalokiteshvara statue and a Shakyamuni Buddha statue from a stall near the monastery gate.

June 7

Jottings

Return

Child, Mother has come from the homeland.

Mother crossed the holy snow peaks of the Himalayas, guided by the Bodhi tree under which Shakyamuni attained the Way, and followed the murmuring waters of the Ganges, searching for you all the way. On the journey, Mother saw Jesus nailed to the cross, but within the ever-present halo of loving kindness and compassion, Mother was shaken and transformed into a gigantic teardrop that fell from the sky.

Child, when Mother saw you, Mother could hardly believe her eyes.

Child, tell Mother, have you been greedy? You must have been—otherwise why would you wrap yourself in such a hard shell of ego-clinging, unable to be free? The world is so vast, yet you cannot find a place to stand.

Mother once told you: everything in this world is poisonous. You must not crave it. Eat less, take less, possess less—just enough to sustain your life. Only then will you be poisoned less and have the ability to return to the homeland. But you have forgotten Mother’s earnest words.

Look at that “gem” in your hand—something you could pick up anywhere in the homeland—yet you are constantly toying with it. The poison of craving blazes fiercely in your heart.

Look at that woman you hold in your arms: a poisonous snake who knows neither shame nor what love is. Yet you lower your head, which was once that of a “prince,” and bend your holy body so that her venom of lust burns fiercely within your lapis lazuli body…

Child, you cannot recognize Mother; you cannot see Mother. Have your eyes gone blind? You must be angry—about what? Child, what has made you angry, causing you to lose the innate qualities of magnanimity, compassion, and forbearance? Because of those few “gems,” because you want to possess that lustful woman? That’s why you no longer forgive your former brothers and friends, why you are angry with those who have helped you, letting the poison of anger burn your bright, wise eyes, making you lose your head and forget who you are. You mistake sand for pearls, poison for fine food, and you forget everything you once possessed, forget your abundance.

Child, let Mother take you back to the beauty of the homeland and your abundance.

You were born from Mother’s “desirelessness.” Your dharma body was holy, pure, and crystal-clear, too pure for human sight. Because it was utterly stainless, the Billion World System shone and reflected through every pore of your body. Your mind and your dharma body were so vast that no living being could measure their extent.

In your homeland, the ground is paved with gold and jade, rows of jewel-trees stand in lines. Your spiritual power is boundless, your every need is satisfied according to your wish, inexhaustible, never depleted.

You could be born from Mother’s shoulder as you wished, born from her laughter, born from her gaze; you could even be born from the Three Lower Realms of the Desire Realm, but you never fell, never became defiled. You could even be born without birth.

Countless holy dakinis and celestial maidens were born for you. They were pure as ice and jade, untouched by worldly dust, knowing nothing of desire. They surrounded you, embraced you, nourished you with tenderness soft as water. Their beauty could eclipse the moon and shame the flowers, and make fish sink and birds fall from the sky.

Child, you once lived in a palace with lapis lazuli floors and gold-and-jade beds, and you were a prince.

You also once transformed into a tiny precious pearl, lying in a giant lotus. A single drop of nectar was enough to nourish you; you used the lotus as your cradle, and countless Bodhisattvas placed their hands on your head in blessing.

You also once roamed the heavenly realms, not knowing what afflictions were.

Child, how could you have fallen so deeply this time, straying so far from Mother?

Your eyes cannot see Mother, your ears cannot hear Mother’s voice. Your ego-clinging is as hard and arrogant as a rigid iron armor, locking you in layer after layer, so Mother’s warm hands cannot reach you. What’s more, your suspicion and jealousy have suddenly cut a Milky Way between Mother and you, so we can only stand on opposite shores and gaze at each other.

Child! Mother will stand fast on this shore for lives upon lives, and for lives upon lives Mother will build the great Dharma ship, waiting for your return.

Child, Mother tells you again: do not crave or possess even the slightest thing in this world. Look upon them as filth and poison. Do not be angry with or resent your brothers and sisters who, like you, are lost in a foreign land. With magnanimity and boundless love, sincerely forgive them and love them. In this way, the poisons in your body can be washed away, and that rigid iron armor will fall away on its own. At that moment, you will instantly return to Mother’s embrace, and you will regain your vast wealth.

Child, Mother knows you do not believe Mother’s words now. You just asked me: “Who are you, really? I cannot see you, cannot touch you, cannot hear your words, yet I feel your presence. I struggle in pain and contradiction, helpless, not knowing what to do. I am lost. If you are my mother, please tell me.”

Child, Mother’s heart aches, and Mother weeps.

Child, before a child who has lost himself, Mother has vanished.

Mother is your conscience, Mother is your dignity, Mother is your selflessness, your single thought that turns toward goodness, your purity, your magnanimity, your single thought of desirelessness, your single thought of renunciation of the five poisons, your single thought that longs for liberation, the wholehearted love you thirst for.

Though Mother stands fast on the shore of the Milky Way for lives upon lives, Mother lives within your heart for lives upon lives.

When your heart feels gratitude toward Mother, when your heart begins to grow weary of this world, Mother will instantly rescue you from samsara and from your fall, and bring you home.

June 8

Got up at eight in the morning. After washing, I sat down to meditate.

During meditation, I turned my gaze inward upon my organs and saw them with absolute clarity. I also sensed that the stray thoughts and desires of the past were like an invisible energy, or a kind of “addiction,” that had severely polluted and poisoned my organs, my energy channels, even every cell.

I clearly observed each organ—heart, liver, spleen, lungs, kidneys—and felt myself to be without form or mark, a ceaselessly circulating stream of energy, or a mist permeating among the organs. When there were no thoughts, only a luminous, mindful awareness remained. I did not know what “I” was. I had once used this physical body as a tool to do all sorts of things: to apply rouge and powder, to put on finery and dress up, to pursue fine food and indulge in sensual pleasures, and when satisfied, I felt infinitely glorious. Now, as I fix my mindful awareness motionlessly on my inner organs, I cannot conceive of what that satisfaction was. What, after all, had we done in our happiness, sorrow, playful laughter, and angry outbursts?

Countless bacteria, like maggots, parasitize our various organs. Inside the body we take such pride in, they devour us every second without pause. While we tirelessly repeat our revelry, our joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure, and our pursuits and losses of desire, our countless cells age and die without mercy. I seemed to see each of my organs, as if at a Tibetan sky-burial site, being pecked at by vultures.

I roamed among my five organs and six viscera, not knowing who I was. I seemed to crawl inside my own body to inspect it carefully. Though my organs had no grave illness, the light and color they emitted were far from healthy. In some places, the channels were dry, the organs themselves dry, giving off various unhealthy shades.

This tool is innocent; it was my past desires and ceaseless stray thoughts that harmed it.

Gradually, my stray thoughts disappeared. Though various desires, stirred by the wind of karmic consciousness, still had wisps of heat haze rising on the breeze, because the mind was quiescent and unattached, they had lost their momentum and could no longer prevail in this body.

As the mind grew calm and still, and the breath became barely perceptible, only a luminous, mindful awareness grew ever clearer and brighter, without any stray thought or the slightest deluded thought. All my organs began moving toward liberation. Although breath did not cease and channels did not stop, and the organs still functioned rhythmically with metabolism, the energy channels became unobstructed, and the burden on the organs noticeably lightened. All the organs began emitting a light of “joy,” brimming with vitality.

The organs, which had been dull when I first sat, grew brighter and brighter, as if newly plated in gold, constantly reflecting golden and red light. In that light was ease and joy. Gradually, I felt that every cell was also radiating light…

June 9

I spent most of the morning and afternoon sitting in meditation, reciting the Six-Syllable Great Bright Mantra. In the early evening, I went to an Internet café to look for my teacher’s books.

When I found one of his books online and had read halfway through, I suddenly went wild with joy—the kind of joy I had only felt when reading the sutras. My teacher’s experiential realizations are priceless; every word of his insight seemed to come straight from the bottom of my heart. Once again I truly experienced the feeling of mind sealing mind between teacher and disciple. It is so rare. I marveled that I had only now come upon his writings, but actually there is no regret. Reading them now, perhaps I can grasp his experiences a little more deeply. Thank you, Teacher, for leaving such a precious treasure for us modern cultivators through your decades of retreat. Thank you, all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, for your compassionate blessing!

On the way back, because my mood was so good, I bought a bouquet of flowers. Reading my teacher’s book, I felt that my teacher has not truly passed into nirvana; he lives on in every sentence and every word of his writings, earnestly calling and guiding later students. I felt that in this world of dust, I have at last found a kindred spirit, for the first time encountered someone whose mind could seal with mine so perfectly. Everything he said and did seemed like what I myself was saying, or about to say and do. As I write these words, I am filled with unshakable confidence that I can perfectly accomplish the cultivation and realization of the Buddha Dharma. All the obstacles on the path seem to have vanished. All obstacles, it seems, come from within one’s own mind.

This is my teacher’s blessing! It is the blessing of all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas! May all sentient beings share with me this joy of the Dharma that overflows my entire being!

June 10

Last night I dreamed that my teacher was in a room, expounding the Dharma to me and three other disciples, introducing various methods from Tang Esotericism and Tibetan Esotericism. The other three disciples were all male; I did not recognize them. At the end, my teacher asked us a question, repeating it six times, but I couldn’t grasp what he was asking. One of the other disciples understood and answered twice, but neither answer seemed correct. Disappointed, my teacher set aside the object he was holding, sat in silence, and then—a moment later—I saw tears stream from his eyes. When I saw this, I buried my face against his knees and wept like a child, my heart aching for the decline of the Buddhadharma. Then I woke. The dream remained vivid, turning over and over in my mind for a long, long time.

At noon, after lunch, I sat beside the offering table drinking tea. As I sipped, I studied the Buddha images on the table, and suddenly my gaze stopped on two Dharma instruments. Both were made from human skulls. Because they were old, they had smelled unpleasant when I first brought them home, so I had washed them and re-tied some of the cord decorations. But since buying them I had hardly ever touched them—partly because my lungs were undergoing transformation and I was low on oxygen, so strange odors made me retch, and partly because deep down I still felt the Dharma instruments were unclean, something to be used only in formal practice.

Now, looking at these two Dharma instruments, the thought struck me: Whose skulls were these? Perhaps the owners of these skull-bones were once my own relatives or friends, or even the flesh and bone of someone closer to me, or perhaps my own skull from a past life when I took human rebirth. If it were my own skull, would I make so many distinctions? While alive, we each believe our own skull is immensely precious; no one imagines their skull abandoned by the roadside, turned into something else, unnoticed by anyone, a dirty thing. As I gazed at these two skulls and visualized that they might exactly be my own skull from a past life, I immediately felt as though my present skull, too, had already been cast aside in the mud. In that moment, I entered a deep experience of the impermanence of this physical body—of life.

Life after life, we trade in this skull, this body, sometimes even the bones of an animal; in this way we cycle through rebirth without end. Without the Buddhadharma, I would not know that life has a higher order, a more perfect mode of being, still less that we can realize neither-arising-nor-ceasing and awaken to the ultimate truth of existence. We would endlessly repeat the main dramas of life—exaltation or degradation. In the universe we are like ants, crushed to death by a careless step; like a fallen leaf whirled by the wind, forever unable to take charge, never master of our own fate, tossed by destiny. Sour, sweet, bitter, hot—suffering and afflictions experienced life after life without cease.

A little before six in the evening, I sat in meditation and recited the Six-Syllable Great Bright Mantra. Once in samadhi, my teacher appeared before me, sitting cross-legged. He told me I should recite the mantra like this, demonstrating several times, and I adjusted my recitation to match his method. He then had me stretch out my hands, placed his hands upon mine, and very quickly I felt my palms swell and grow hot, as if a dharma-wheel pattern had appeared in the center of each.

After a moment, he rose and set four radiant stupas at the four corners of my seat. In front he placed an incense burner and lit three sticks of incense; the stupas and incense were just slightly taller than me as I sat. Then he traced a polygon around the stupas, sprinkling something like powder on the ground inside it. The ground inside that polygon, including where I sat, began to glitter with golden light, and a jeweled canopy appeared above my head.

Then he placed a Dharma instrument in each of my hands: a vajra dagger in the left, a bell in the right. He set a Five-Buddha Crown on my head and draped the purple-gold kasaya over my shoulders; I assumed a male form. He said, “Do not stop reciting the Six-Syllable Great Bright Mantra. I am going to construct a mandala and use your own body to perform a feast offering.” Then he circled me, reciting the mantra together with me as he walked, holding half a human skull-cap filled with what looked like water and repeatedly dipping his fingers to fling the water upon me inside the mandala.

Suddenly, the mandala vanished. The stupas at the four corners became many human leg bones and ribs hanging suspended in midair. Beneath me I sat on an enormous human skull, the dome curving downward. All around were piles of rotting corpses and human skulls. It seemed I was sitting in a mountain hollow. Vultures circled overhead, giving mournful cries.

I heard my own mantra recitation grow faster and more urgent, nearly white-hot. My whole body heated; waves of heat surged from my feet to the crown of my head. Gradually I dissolved, becoming a heap of white bones. The heat drained away. Vultures and other beings devoured my body. Drum beats and bell tones rang in my ears as I chanted the mantra brightly at high speed. My body grew cold; I felt ceaseless cold wind blowing through me. I saw countless sharp steel knives and daggers thrust upward from beneath my seat to pierce my illusory body. Still I recited the mantra, not feeling terror, yet as the blades stabbed through me, there was a subtle, momentary discomfort.

I saw my teacher’s circling footsteps and mantra recitation quicken, nearly a run, and water or grain-like food continued to be showered into the mandala.

Not daring to let my attention waver for an instant, I recited the mantra fast and clear. I felt drops of water fell onto my feet. Suddenly a cooling sensation began at the big toes of both feet and spread gradually through my whole body. I saw my body, which had scattered like cloud and mist, begin to gather together again, though my mind-energy was extremely weak. I kept reciting the mantra; the gathering seemed to last a long time. Then—a flash of light at the heart cakra, at first like a flame, then like a full moon. In that kshana I saw my body again, clothed. It was as if I had died, been ground to dust, and come back to life.

I saw that my teacher had also stopped circling. He stood before me, smiling with satisfaction, and up in the air beside him were other figures; he was speaking with them.

I too stopped reciting and sat quietly. After a while my teacher said, “This is called the Body-Offering Dharma. You need to do this practice many times to swiftly accumulate merit and reach perfect attainment.” I asked, “From now on, should I do it through my own visualization?” My teacher said, “No need. I will assist you and do it together with you.”

I thanked my teacher and sat in stillness for another ten minutes or so. My body felt fatigued, my mind-energy very weak, recovering bit by bit. The sensation was as if I really had just given away my own body—broken to bits and offered—including my very consciousness.

After rising from meditation, I recorded this state. In the course of writing it down, I felt both body and mind-energy fully restored.

June 11

Today is the Dragon Boat Festival. After rising in the morning, I cleaned the room and prepared offerings, and along the way I consecrated the incense burners, prayer beads, Buddha images, and other items that fellow practitioners had bought.

After arranging the offering table, I sat in meditation and entered samadhi. I then discovered that the Bodhisattva had already constructed a vast mandala. I sat at the center of a resplendent mandala, with a golden-yellow jeweled-canopy inlaid with diamonds, fresh flowers, white water buffalo dung, and aromatic spices spread over the ground. Around this great mandala, encircling it, were twenty-eight smaller mandalas, each identically adorned and overflowing with fragrance; wind chimes hanging from the mandalas rang softly in the breeze.

Numerous dakinis and heavenly maidens circled in the air, saying, “The Dharma fragrance of the Bodhisattva is so fragrant.” Wearing a Five-Buddha Crown and draped in the purple-gold kasaya, I sat upright at the heart of the great mandala. I saw my teacher standing outside the mandala, busy with something, and he said to me, “Guanyin Bodhisattva has invited the Twenty-Eight Patriarchs of the Western Heavens to hold a Dharma gathering for the flourishing of the Buddhadharma.”

At that moment, I suddenly saw colored clouds gathering in the sky, cluster after cluster. Seated upon each cloud was a Buddha, twenty-eight auspicious clouds in all. Inside the mandala, lights of every hue poured down like cascading water. The items to be consecrated—each incense-burner lid popped open of its own accord; the Dharma instruments gave forth all kinds of sound; every object shimmered with seven-colored radiance. The twenty-eight clouds arrayed themselves neatly in the sky, paused for a moment, then each drifted into one of the twenty-eight smaller mandalas. Now the great mandala and the smaller ones blazed with intense white light. I began to recite the Six-Syllable Great Bright Mantra, manifesting a thousand hands and a thousand eyes.

After a while, the seven-colored light in the sky above my head grew stronger and stronger, and suddenly constellations appeared, their patterns shifting and interchanging across the vast sky. Above the mandala, directly over me, an enormous prayer wheel was revolving, turning eighty-one times. The Twenty-Eight Patriarchs in the surrounding small mandalas transformed into twenty-eight glittering star-lords, reflecting the twenty-eight stars in the sky. The constellations shifted for a while, and then the stars wove themselves into a lotus pattern in the sky. The giant prayer wheel above my mandala suddenly transformed into an enormous golden lotus; the other twenty-eight mandalas likewise became golden lotuses, resonating with it, and the sky filled with drifting golden lotuses. At this moment, directly before me in the air appeared the colossal seated image of Shakyamuni Buddha.

Then, in the star-formed lotus in the sky, one petal remained separated from the whole. I saw that a flute had suddenly appeared in my hands, and I heard a voice say, “The flute belongs to the wood element.” I began to play, the flute tone deep, soft, and clear. Within the sound of my flute, I saw the few distant stars swiftly draw near the lotus, and finally that heavenly lotus was complete.

Now, upon the completed lotus appeared some numbers and a “double happiness” character. All around the lotus, the sky shone with seven-colored splendor, and an auspicious light enveloped the whole sky and the twenty-nine mandalas on the ground. Countless hands stretched toward my crown from every mandala and from the sky itself, bestowing blessing and empowerment.

Slowly, the constellations in the sky began to fade. As they grew invisible, twenty-eight glittering stars shot out from the twenty-eight mandalas and merged into the distant heavens.

Inside the great mandala, I made prostrations toward the sky, thanking the Twenty-Eight Patriarchs of the Western Heavens and all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas for their blessing.

I then emerged from samadhi. The Dharma Gathering was over.

June 12

Yesterday afternoon I sat in meditation. I formally took my teacher as my guru, and he was very pleased. I bowed three times to him as the ceremonial form.

My teacher happily told me that he had been waiting for me in Tibet all along and had built a secluded practice room for me. He took me to see it. I saw that the room was on the edge of a monastery, a stone hut with a conical roof; next to it stood an extraordinarily tall tree. My teacher pointed to the tree and said, “This tree is very auspicious. Behind my retreat hut in India there are five trees; you have one here. It symbolizes that you shall receive my lineage, which is also the lineage of the true Dharma.” Then he pointed to another stone house not far away and said, “That stone house is where I once stayed during retreat in Tibet. Come and have a look.” I went with him into that stone house; inside it was already quite dilapidated. My teacher said, “No one lives there anymore; it’s fallen into ruin.” We stood at the doorway for a while, then returned to the stone practice room he had built for me.

Entering the stone room, I saw carpets, a meditation cushion, and some furnishings. Seen from inside, it was a very luxurious mandala of richly painted cloth. The roof and walls were entirely covered with cloth painted with Buddha images and various patterns, joined to the patterned carpets; many small wind chimes hung from the ceiling. I could not take it all in or remember every detail.

My teacher had me sit on the cushion at the center of the room and told me he was going to perform an empowerment for me—a unique Fivefold Esoteric Empowerment he had created, seemingly a synthesis of methods from five different schools.

I sat in stillness and watched my teacher hold a vessel fashioned from a human cranium. He circled me, chanting sutras, and from time to time sprinkled water from the vessel onto my crown. At this moment, the Four Heavenly Kings appeared in the air, each seated at one corner of the mandala. One Heavenly King was striking an immense upright drum; the drumming was deafening—even the roof of the mandala vibrated. Whenever my teacher chanted a passage of sutra text, a drum would sound, and another Heavenly King would ring a bell; a stupa also appeared in the sky.

I sat quietly; my mind would occasionally wander to look at the surroundings and the sky, but gradually I lost consciousness. I only remember my teacher still sprinkling a dark-red powder onto my crown, the water and powder quickly seeping from the crown into my head.

I have forgotten how the empowerment ended. Afterward, I saw my teacher standing before me, smiling broadly, and only then knew it was over. All I perceived was that I seemed to be sliced cleanly in two, from crown to perineum cakra, by a sheet of darkly luminous light, and for an instant, the body’s energy drew inward toward the central channel. These sensations gradually faded a few hours after I rose from the cushion.

Since coming to Tibet, I have found that my Dharma Protector has changed from Skanda Bodhisattva to the Four Heavenly Kings. Whether I am sitting in meditation or asleep at night, I can see them in the sky.

June 13

This morning I went out to walk the kora. I moved quite slowly, turning a prayer wheel in my hand, reciting the Six-Syllable Great Bright Mantra, and visualizing the syllables of the mantra lined up one by one along the central channel, each syllable rising from the base of the channel upward as I voiced it. After walking like this for a while, both feet and legs grew warm. Following that, my spine heated up, and my whole body became warm. When I set out, I had worried I wasn’t wearing enough, but now, on the contrary, a slight dry heat suffused my whole body.

After one circuit, I suddenly felt an opening at the crown of my head. A line of the Six-Syllable Great Bright Mantra in Sanskrit script poured steadily into the crown cakra and down the central channel. At first the syllables were large and black; then they became multicolored, and finally white. These syllables streamed unceasingly into the central channel, dissolving like butter into the navel cakra or the perineum cakra.

In the morning I ate a one-yuan portion of boiled potatoes and a small bottle of calcium-fortified milk.

In the afternoon I sat in meditation, reciting the Six-Syllable Great Bright Mantra. A hot current surged up from the perineum cakra and flooded my whole body. After a while, I found myself sitting in the secret meditation room my teacher had specially prepared for me; the small bell on the ceiling tinkled softly. The carpet was painted with a many-sided figure whose meaning I did not know, and I sat at its center. I saw my teacher watching me recite the mantra. Just then, a tall lama came through the door. My teacher welcomed him warmly, calling him the Gongga Living Buddha. The Living Buddha brought a small black pot containing a large white conch. He placed the conch in front of me, then wrote the Six-Syllable Great Bright Mantra in Sanskrit on my crown, my two palms, the Tanzhong point in the center of my chest, the Feishu acupoint on my back, and my perineum cakra. I saw the six syllables appear at each place. After that, he and my teacher went to a stove in the corner of the room to brew milk tea and chat.

I continued reciting the mantra, but then I suddenly felt tired and stopped. The Living Buddha came over holding a cup shaped like an ox horn and said, “Here, have a drink!” I took the horn cup and drained it in one gulp. It was highland barley wine, tart and sweet. I looked at the cup: its outside was rimmed with silver, and two delicate silver cords hung from it—beautiful! It reminded me of the jue vessels used for wine at banquets in ancient courts. The Living Buddha smiled as he took the horn cup back, then brought me a small bowl of milk tea. The bowl was pale green jade bordered with silver floral designs. I drank the tea; he was very pleased.

He returned to his seat by the window and said to my teacher, “Look, the color of my neck is poor; my energy channels are very dirty.” My teacher asked, “How do we wash them clean?” The Living Buddha seemed to say, “Let Milarepa help wash them.” As he spoke, the door curtain parted and a man dressed like a Tibetan walked in, saying, “Who’s talking about me?” Smiling, my teacher replied, “We were just speaking of you, and here you are.” The Venerable Milarepa sat down. Today, I saw, he had shed his usual eccentric, mad appearance. His face was fair and clean, and he wore a felt hat with fur trim and a slightly pointed crown; his hair was a reddish brown. He was dressed in a neat, clean Tibetan robe. He sat down and drank milk tea. The Living Buddha explained why they had just mentioned him. Milarepa pursed his lips and gave a whistle. Instantly, a magnificent striped tiger padded through the door, carrying in its mouth half a human skull filled with clear water, together with a vajra.

The venerable one patted the tiger on the head; the tiger set down the skull and the vajra and retreated.

Holding the half skull of water, he said, “This is water from a feast offering we just finished. Come, you two add your blessing as well.” Each of the three—the Living Buddha, Milarepa, and my teacher—spat a little saliva into the skull.

Milarepa began to recite a mantra over the skull, then faced me from his seat and flicked the water at my neck with his fingers. I saw the droplets embed themselves like tiny, round ice pellets into the channels of my neck, vanishing in an instant. My neck began to spout flames, as though contending with his ice pellets. After a time the fire died away, and I saw that parts of my neck channels had turned black; then the entire neck became rainbow-colored, like a tube shining with seven-colored light. The venerable one continued until all the water was used.

Then I sat quietly again, and I seemed to become a Tibetan boy of about fourteen.

I heard my teacher asking Milarepa what he had been busy with lately; the venerable one said he had been with the mountain god Nyenchen Tanglha, and they had held several feast offerings together.

Suddenly the door curtain parted again, and in came a figure that looked like a dinosaur from a cartoon. His face resembled a dragon king’s—a human face, but with long, tangled eyebrows and thick, white, downy whiskers. His complexion was a bluish-green, with a soft, warm rosy glow on his cheeks. From the top of his head down his back ran a row of hard triangular plates, and he dragged a thick tail like a ceratopsian. Yet he had a human body, and the head, back plates, and trailing tail seemed almost like a costume mask—but you could see the mask was connected to his head and back. He wore white robes and carried a dragon-headed staff carved as if from crystal ice.

As soon as he entered he said cheerfully, “Ah, everyone is here!” Milarepa pointed at me and said something I did not catch. The newcomer said, “I’ve known for some time that the Bodhisattva had arrived, but I have come to pay my respects only today.” He bowed toward me as he spoke, adding, “Nyenchen Tanglha, the mountain god, pays his respects to the Bodhisattva.”

I saw myself suddenly transform into White-Robed Guanyin and say, “Rise.”

The mountain god brought out a small crystal gourd and said, “I have brought some ice pills as an offering for the Bodhisattva.” Milarepa, my teacher, and the Living Buddha all gathered around. The mountain god poured from the gourd a handful of colorful, pebble-like things. My teacher picked one up, examined it, and said, “They look almost like sharira.” The mountain god replied, “They are minerals that hardened under layers of ice.”

The Gongga Living Buddha suggested putting a few of the stones into my neck channels. The mountain god said, “No, these pills are extremely cold; they will damage the channels.” Laughing, the Living Buddha replied, “No harm. I’m afraid even if we put in all of them they wouldn’t have an effect—the Bodhisattva’s channels are far too hot.” The mountain god tried placing two of the larger ones against my Tanzhong point; the ice pills were instantly drawn into my channels and vanished without a trace.

The mountain god put the remaining pills back into the gourd, sealed it, and set it beside me. Then he drew from his robe a radiant, fist-sized sphere of light and said, “This is a treasure I carry with me—the mani pearl of the snow mountains.” He held it aloft, and I saw it give off blue smoke; in the icy mist the pearl seemed to shrink. Soon the room’s walls and floor, and my own body, were covered with two fingers’ thickness of snow, but I did not feel cold. I saw that only a little snow had settled on Milarepa, the Living Buddha, and my teacher, and none at all on the mountain god.

Then Milarepa recited a mantra over the charcoal fire heating the tea; immediately the snow vanished from the room and from everyone’s bodies.

The venerable one told the mountain god to place the pearl into my channels. Without a moment’s hesitation, the mountain god came to my side and placed the pearl at my Tanzhong point. I saw it being drawn into my heart center. Suddenly the pearl expanded, and I found myself sitting upright inside a transparent sphere of ice. After a while, I abruptly emerged from samadhi.

The day before yesterday, when my teacher gave me empowerment, he said that the latent energy in my channels was astonishing—greater than he had ever seen; anyone else would have had problems long ago. But the energy was too mixed and impure. Now, practicing the secret path, I must extract the essence like washing gold from sand. I did not fully understand what he meant.

June 14

At half past two in the morning, I began to have diarrhea. Suddenly my thoracic vertebra slipped out of place, and half of my body went numb and painful; I could not move. Clenching my teeth, I adjusted my posture and actually managed to correct the misalignment, but the muscles and nerves in my back were injured and continued to ache. I stayed in bed all day. After taking medicine, my stomach and intestines recovered, but I was still weak.

Today the book I had ordered from a bookstore—a work by my teacher—arrived. I was delighted and longed to devour it at once, but I was mentally exhausted and my eyes seemed blurry, so I decided to wait a day or two before reading carefully.

As I lay in bed, five young women came to visit me. They said they were the Five Sisters of the Holy Lake, also called the Five Long-Life Sisters.

The five sisters brought two exquisite carved wooden boxes: one held two pure white snow lotus flowers, the other two white lingzhi fungi.

The third sister examined the injury on my back and said, “A poisonous Tibetan earthworm invaded the energy channels in your back. The worm has already left, but there is still venom in the channels, which caused the strain.” As she spoke, she drove a silver needle into the poisoned channel. The needle was hollow; after inserting it, she sucked several mouthfuls of poison from the upper hole with her mouth. Just then the second sister, who had gone back for medicine, returned and handed her a packet of dark red powder. The third sister withdrew the needle, mixed the powder with water and saliva, and applied it to my back. “This is medicine made from Tibetan saffron,” she said.

While she prepared the medicine, I studied her carefully. She was not conventionally pretty—she had single-fold eyelids and a small mouth—but she had a vivid expressiveness. She wore many thin braids that fell over her shoulders, and on the crown of her head she wore a thin round piece of pale yellow jade. Her gown seemed a blend of Tang-style and Tibetan clothing, with intricate embroidery along the edges, very finely worked. I did not take a close look at the other four sisters.

They said they had originally planned to visit me a few days later, but upon hearing from Venerable Milarepa that I was ill, they had come early. I thanked them, but the third sister said, “No need for courtesy. When the Bodhisattva once lived as Yeshe Tsogyal, we were all very close sisters.” Then they took their leave.

A while later Milarepa arrived, once again in his laughing, clowning, wildly eccentric manner. He looked at me and said, “Eh? Are you really sick?” As if my illness were a joke, a pose for others to see. I smiled and said nothing. Then he grew serious and said, “I’ll perform a Dharma Gathering for you”—and instantly dashed off without a trace.

At noon, the Tibetan Medicine King went out specially to gather herbs, and my godfather decocted them for me. I drank a bowl; the medicine was dark red, with a flavor like ginseng.

June 15

I spent the whole day reading my teacher’s book. In it, he criticized Master Yinguang’s teaching of “going to rebirth carrying one’s karma.” On this point I keep my own reservations. I believe that every case is unique; a person burdened with heavy karma will find it extremely difficult to be reborn in the Land of Ultimate Bliss. His physical energy channels will be turbid and chaotic, and his mind will not be at peace. It will be very hard for him to “recite the Buddha’s name single-mindedly.” If one cannot concentrate on Buddha-recitation and the mind is not pure, it is difficult to resonate with the Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss, to resonate with Amitabha Buddha. Without that resonance, it’s like firing a cannonball without aiming at the target—how could one possibly reach the Land of Ultimate Bliss?

But there are exceptions. If one’s teacher is a great Bodhisattva who has returned to the world—Amitabha, Guanyin, or another—then at the moment of death, through the empowering blessing of their Buddha-power, one may be able to recite the Buddha’s name sincerely and go to rebirth carrying one’s karma. But one must have the karmic fortune to meet such a teacher. Someone whose karmic burden is too heavy cannot possibly encounter such a teacher to receive that blessing. If Master Yinguang had this capacity, then he could perfectly well have told his disciples, “You may go to rebirth carrying your karma, as long as you quiet your mind and recite the Buddha’s name once.”

Therefore, if one hopes for rebirth in the Land of Ultimate Bliss but lacks a completely reliable teacher as a support, it is safer to create less negative karma.

My teacher holds that an ordinary person’s lifetime practice should follow a systematic sequence of stages, a view I also wholeheartedly endorse and appreciate. He sets out:

One, use the coin of impermanence; two, buy the soil of renunciation; three, build a wall of precepts; four, plant the seed of bodhi; five, irrigate with the water of great compassion; six, fertilize with the power of samadhi; seven, open the flower of wisdom; eight, bear the fruit of Buddhahood.

He also teaches how to tame the mind and bring it to the Mind of Samadhi. All these explanations are grounded in his own verified experience, which makes them extremely precious.

One, initial placement; two, continual placement; three, repeated placement; four, close placement; five, taming; six, pacifying; seven, thoroughly pacifying; eight, single-pointed placement; nine, equanimity.

June 17

Last night my limbs and back itched so unbearably that I could neither sit nor lie still. I had no choice but to walk pratyutpanna samadhi inside the room until I was thoroughly exhausted, and only then went to bed—probably around three or four in the morning.

When I got up this morning, my head felt heavy, I didn’t want to speak, and my whole body was drained of energy. But inside, my mind was extraordinarily still. Walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, I was aware of a moon disc at my heart center—thin as gossamer yet shining with an extremely bright white light. This light had no rays or halo, but it was so transparent that my entire body and mind were illuminated—every organ, even every cell. Yet at the heart center itself I felt an empty, open void. I sensed an extraordinary quiet in myself and in everything around me; I did not want to make a sound, as though all my energy were concentrated at the heart center and could not reach the throat, leaving a tight, locked sensation there. All outside sounds became part of the stillness; I did not perceive them as noise.

But when I saw the ego-clinging and habitual tendencies of others, even though my mind did not stir, I could see a dusty, feverish heat rising through the channels of my limbs, especially my arms, and my body and mind were momentarily disturbed—yet serenity returned at once. This shows that I still harbor those same habitual tendencies and that my ego-clinging has not been broken.

The energy throughout my body seemed almost to stop flowing; no joy arose in my heart.

In the afternoon I sat in meditation, and my teacher transmitted the secret practices:

First, phowa (transference of consciousness);

Second, the method of visualizing one’s yidam to accomplish attainment;

Third, the method of meditating on the channels, energies, and drops to accomplish attainment (one visualizes the left channel as red, the central channel blue, and the right channel yellow. When visualizing the central channel, it often turned indigo blue, stained by impure red bodhicitta).

For the first and second practices, I had already accomplished them, so I could visualize and realize them in a single instant. The third practice requires the breath and pulse to cease. I could only reach this state for extremely short periods and could not abide in it for long, so further practice would be necessary. This method transforms the karmic winds in the channels into wisdom drops, which then return to the heart channel to realize emptiness-nature. In my afternoon practice, although my breath and pulse did not cease, I nonetheless abided for a long time in the luminosity of the Dharma-nature.

When transmitting these secret teachings, my teacher no longer merely passed on a lineage; he blended them with the realizations of his decades in the world. His instructions were extraordinarily concrete and precise. I am grateful for his loving kindness and compassion.

June 18

This morning I went out to turn the prayer wheels. I was still a little weak, so I did not recite the mantra; I simply turned the wheels and visualized the central channel. After completing the first circuit, I saw Master Tsongkhapa, looking younger than he had in previous visions, wearing a pointed yellow hat.

I greeted the master. Tsongkhapa asked, “How much do you know now about the Gelug doctrine?” I said, “I have read the Master’s Lamrim Chenmo in a superficial way, but I have not studied any other texts.” Tsongkhapa said, “I would like to arrange some courses for you.” I said, “These days I am studying esoteric Dharma with my master.”

He said, “I know. I just want you to learn some doctrinal theory. Would you like that? What time would suit you?” I said, “Of course I would. Let the Master decide the time.” Tsongkhapa said, “Then we’ll study for one hour each morning after circumambulation.” I said, “Alright!” I added, “In a few days I’m going to Ganden Monastery.” The Master said happily, “I will have the monastery make the arrangements.” Then he vanished from my side.

After leaving the teahouse, I bought two jin of potatoes and a handful of pea pods to go back and make lunch.

During midday sitting meditation, Tsongkhapa brought a young boy with him. The form he manifested looked only about twenty-five or twenty-six years old. He was dressed with great dignity and formality, wearing a Geshe hat with four corners and ribbons hanging down beside his ears. Underneath he wore a yellow silk garment, one arm bared, and over it a Gelug monk’s robe. The boy wore ordinary lama robes, his right arm bare, and carried a wooden tray holding a thick stack of sutra scrolls.

I was seated on a cushion in the room. A golden Dharma throne had appeared before me without my noticing it. Tsongkhapa ascended the high throne, and the easy familiarity he had shown before was gone—he immediately became imposing, his tone full of pride.

Because I had returned to the hotel late for meditation, not sitting down until almost eleven-thirty, I had made the master wait awhile. I first performed three prostrations, took him as my teacher, and then confessed my fault and repented.

The master wore a dismissive, haughty expression. Without even glancing at me, he simply waved his hand and told me to dispense with the formalities. I returned to my seat.

Today Tsongkhapa only gave a brief introduction to the Gelug tradition. What I can remember roughly comes down to these points: First, the Master said modestly that although history credits him with founding the Gelug School of Tibet, in truth the one who first established its doctrines was the Venerable Atisha. Second, the Gelug School is the great synthesis of Tibetan Buddhism; in doctrine and stages of practice it combines the essence of both Sutra and Tantra. Third, he gave a summary of Gelug precepts and monastic rules. Fourth, he mentioned doctrinal disputes with the Kagyu and Nyingma schools, saying that their criticisms of the Gelug were biased and based on misunderstanding. In fact, many of the practices in the Gelug’s supreme tantric methods of the Generation and Completion Stages are identical to those of the Nyingma and other schools. Fifth, he summarized the content of the Lamp for the Path to Enlightenment.

During the latter half of the lesson, I entered such deep samadhi that I lost consciousness. When I emerged from the state, I could not recall a single word the master had said. I only remembered that at the end he said the lesson would just be a simple introduction for today, and he stepped down from the Dharma throne and leafed through the books on the tray the boy held. I saw titles such as the Abhidharmakosha and the Science of Logic among them…

All through the lesson, the young boy stood beside the Dharma throne holding the tray with the greatest reverence.

After Tsongkhapa and the boy left, I was astonished to see the golden Dharma throne transform into a red ox with deer antlers and slowly walk away.

I said to the Bodhisattva, “Studying like this, I can’t remember even thirty percent when I come out of samadhi.” The Bodhisattva replied, “It lies only in your mind’s realization. And once you study in this way, reading books on your own later will come very easily.”

June 19

During morning circumambulation, I had the following experiences and sensations:

Because the mind was vast and empty of all objects, without making distinctions, the six sense faculties began to rest and lost their respective functions (over time, they can interchange freely). I felt that the energy of eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and body all returned to the central channel. The brain was clear, silent, and luminous, free of discursive thoughts. At times I suddenly felt my entire body and mind collapse with a rumble; most of the time my body felt like a transparent, thin shadow about to vanish. For a moment, I suddenly felt myself become as vast as the universe, my body filled with countless dense stars.

Insight:

The quality of emptiness nature is universal love, compassion, and the equality of nature and appearance. So to verify one’s own realization of emptiness nature, it is not about seeing light or Buddhas and Bodhisattvas but about watching whether one’s mind is gradually turning toward compassion and acquiring a wisdom that transcends the world.

June 20

Went out for morning circumambulation. The following were my experiences:

After walking half a circuit, I suddenly felt the crown of my head and my heart chakra begin to radiate white light. The inside of my head was very bright. I felt that I and all the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas throughout the universe, and all beings of the Six Paths, were all sending forth the same sound: Om Mani Padme Hum… After a while, I felt that all beings of the Six Paths, all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, every blade of grass, every tree, every stone, and the majestic Potala Palace were all emanating from my own body and mind. My body neither grew nor shrank, yet through my pores I saw the forms of all worlds. From this a thought arose spontaneously in my heart: “I am the Father of Buddhas, I am the Mother of Buddhas,” a word of praise. Every sound in this world was never apart from me for an instant; all issued from my body and mind and, like a hundred rivers returning to the sea, flowed back into my body and mind. I am the source of all sound. White light surged through my brain like billowing white clouds moving across a sky of boundless clear blue, but the white clouds never fully cleared away. I felt that my spiritual light and wisdom were obscured by those white clouds. I also felt the central, left, and right channels turn into three pillars of light. The central channel was very thick, and a blue light turned everything inside and outside my body blue, though the energy channels around the heart chakra were somewhat turbid. My body and mind were filled with joy. I felt I was a happy circumambulator. Everything in the world had become vividly alive, incomparably brilliant. The gray and filthy places I had seen a few days ago now reflected a kind of “filthy” radiance before my eyes. Even the “impure” places had their own multicolored light. None of that radiance was ever apart from my body and mind for an instant; it too issued from my body and mind and returned to me. In a flash I realized that my greed, anger, delusion, arrogance, and doubt seemed to have transformed into the skulls that dakinis wear around their necks or on their crowns—nothing more than outer ornaments. My inner heart was truly pure and undefiled, neither defiled nor pure. Everything was just like this.

June 21

During morning sitting meditation, I talked with my master about the difficulties of propagating the Dharma. The master sighed and said that in the Dharma-Ending Age, sentient beings only like to accumulate human and heavenly blessings; sometimes you can’t find even a single person who genuinely vows to practice toward realization. There are many who believe in Buddhism, but they are content with hollow ceremonial acts, seeking merit and blessings. Some say they practice cultivation, yet they can’t bear a single poorly cooked meal or an uncomfortable place to live. If you say a few words to them, you can’t be too harsh; if you’re gentle, it’s meaningless. There are even disciples who use their lustful minds and the eyes of greed, anger, delusion, arrogance, and doubt to scrutinize every word and deed of their teacher, then complain there are no good teachers and cannot bring themselves to feel reverence. Still other disciples simply want to exploit their teacher’s reputation for fame and profit, satisfying their own selfish desires, which breaks the hearts of many teachers, so that they don’t even dare accept disciples anymore. How meager the blessings of sentient beings are now! They only want to receive; they don’t wish to give the least bit. Yet they don’t realize—without renouncing, how can one gain?!

June 22

During morning sitting, the master reproached me for not practicing with sufficient vigor. In my alarm I hurriedly repented, feeling I had been unworthy of my teacher’s kindness. I had thought that in this period I was doing nothing but reading the master’s books and sitting in meditation. But after careful reflection I realized that I still had many scattered thoughts, and my mind was constantly entangled in worldly trifles. Even though I did nothing myself, when my six sense faculties perceived them, my mind still followed and made distinctions. If the mind is not truly in practice, then sitting in meditation and reading sutras is just going through the motions. So during this time I must strive to maintain mindful awareness whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, even in sleep and dreams.

Reading about the cultivation and Dharma transmission experiences of the female tulku Machig Labdrön in the fifth volume of the master’s books brought me great benefit. A brief excerpt of her views on wind, channels, and drops follows:

Thus, when the body is accomplished, it originates first from the navel. After the navel channel emerges, the body gradually forms … the left, right, and central channels. Inside the four-spoke navel chakra is the starting point for contemplating the central abiding wind, or vase breath. The right channel is of the water element, the left channel of the earth element. The secret chakra is the starting point from which the fire element arises. The left and right channels hook into the central channel, ascend to the central channel at the crown, and join the central channel there; from there they descend as the two nostril channels and settle in the inner corners of the eyes. From the crown’s central channel, a small channel issues forth to the center point between the eyebrows. All three channels possess luminosity, and within them is the path traversed by wisdom wind. The left channel is the method channel, which holds white drops; the right channel is the wisdom channel, which holds red drops. (In women, the left and right channels are the reverse of those in men.) In men, the method channel forms the reproductive organ; in women, the wisdom channel forms the reproductive organ—in both cases through the channel on the left side.

As for the total number of channels, the large ones number four thousand, the medium ones eighty thousand, the fine ones two hundred thousand, and the finest ten million—equal to the number of body hairs.

I think it is not quite accurate to say that the channels equal the number of body hairs, because each person’s hair count differs whereas the number of channels is without variation. I have always believed that the channels in the human body should correspond to the number of rivers on earth. Since a person contains the holographic information of the universe—is a microcosm of the universe—this seems plausible. But none of this can be verified, and in any case the number of channels is not crucial to practice. A practitioner need only be familiar with the main channels and chakras; that is enough.

June 24

Morning sitting. I wanted to ask my master a few questions within samadhi, so I requested his presence. Suddenly I saw my master standing before me with a beaming smile, wearing a blue long robe and a skullcap, looking slightly older than he had a few days earlier, and his entire face had a bluish tint. I was startled and grew suspicious: this time the master’s appearance and complexion were completely different from before—couldn’t it be a demon taking the master’s form? As this thought crossed my mind, I stared at his face and asked, “Master, why is your face blue?” He said, “Look at the light in the whole room.” Only then did I look around and discover that the entire room was filled with blue light—and that this light was emanating from the energy channels of my own body. I was relieved.

I asked my master, saying that during samadhi I had long ago received the blessings of Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, my energy channels were open, and the chakras were basically opened as well, so why was it that after emerging from samadhi I could not attain the same state I had within it? The master said, “It is because yin and yang cannot be transformed. For example, you may visualize yourself completely transformed into the form of your yidam, but when you emerge from samadhi, you cannot manifest such miraculous transformation and actually become the yidam.” I asked, “How then can yin and yang be transformed?” He answered, “When you enter the state of samadhi, yin and yang will transform.” I asked, “Then am I not in a samadhi state right now?” He replied, “From the very beginning you have been able to enter the samadhi of infinite consciousness and the samadhi of infinite space, but that is due to causes and conditions from your past lives. To transform the physical body, you need to start from the beginning and enter the most elementary samadhi states. Your learning has gone backwards in everything: you first realized the highest levels, and now you are learning the lower ones. This is also for the benefit of all beings; for you personally, it is actually unnecessary. But studying these things will not be difficult for you. With a little cultivated practice, you will attain accomplishment.”

In the afternoon sitting, with my master’s help, I practiced the Chod offering.

The master held a bell, intoning mantras as he circled around me. From time to time I heard the bell, and in an instant I saw the sky and the ground around me filled with all kinds of fierce birds, wild beasts, and rakshasis. They suddenly rushed forward, biting and tearing at my body. I saw chunks of flesh and sprays of blood flying everywhere; a ferocious, monstrous eagle tore away my intestines. A rakshasi snatched out my heart and, eating it, said, “How fragrant!” At the same time, I smelled a fragrant and sweet aroma. Within seconds I was reduced to a skeleton, and the skeleton was also suspended in midair, and the bits of remaining flesh on it were picked clean by the birds. At that point the carnivorous rakshasis, the fierce birds, and the beasts all vanished. The skeleton fell from the sky. I only heard the sound of the master shaking the bell; his form was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly a great fire rushed toward me, burning the skeleton to ash. Then floodwaters swept over the ash, and after the waters receded, a fierce gale blew through, drying and scattering away the last of the ash. At this moment I heard not only the bell but also the sound of a hand drum, and I heard the master say, “Contemplate the central channel.” Hearing this, I fixed my awareness on the visualized central channel.

After a while, I suddenly saw two people blow long horns ahead, and two others beat two large drums. I heard a voice say, “The Great Karmapa is coming.” Two men in their thirties approached, wearing Mongolian clothing and fur hats with two fuzzy ribbons hanging beside their ears. They knelt on one knee and offered two khata scarves. My master accepted them on my behalf. Then a Dharma King came forward, wearing a jeweled crown and a Dharma robe, but underneath he also seemed to be dressed in Mongolian style—not very tall, but solid and sturdy.

He said, “I will grant you empowerment so that you will have the Sakya lineage transmission.” As he spoke, he seemed to take the bell and drum from the master’s hands and shook them above my crown. Having just performed Chod, I felt as if my spirit had scattered; for a long time my consciousness drifted in boundless mist, and I saw myself as nothing but a heap of white bones, unable to gather flesh and blood back onto my body.

Then I heard the Karmapa softly calling, “Yeshe Tsogyal, Yeshe…” It seemed as if an instrument made from human bone was blown gently beside my ear, and he called out as he blew. At that moment I suddenly saw left, central, and right channels emerge from within the skeleton, the central channel blue tinged with red, and it seemed as if a consciousness, in the form of red light, slowly descended through the crown and entered the central channel. In an instant I saw all the chakras. The navel chakra and heart channel were extremely vivid and distinct; the heart channel resembled a lotus of flesh, and the central channel passed through each chakra. At that moment I suddenly had flesh and blood again and was transformed into a Tibetan girl of about sixteen, with many small braids, a round face, and large eyes.

At that moment I suddenly saw the sixteen-year-old girl transform again—this time into a naked girl embracing the Great Karmapa in midair as they engaged in union practice. At the same time I saw within my own body’s left, central, and right channels a multitude of brilliant white points of light rising from the secret cakra. Then the girl disappeared and the Karmapa knelt before me, made a bow, and said, “I hope the Mother Buddha will long remain in the world.” He then rose and departed.

My teacher said to me: he was the Sixth Karmapa; watching him practice union with me, the level of his practice was extremely high.

June 25

At seven thirty this morning I hired a car to Ganden Monastery. The scenery along the way was beautiful, but there was a stretch of mountain road that was still hard going.

After arriving at Ganden, I went to the main hall to pay my respects to Je Tsongkhapa, and he was already well prepared. When I entered the hall, the space suddenly expanded to an immense size; in the distance two men were blowing horns, and there was the beating of drums. The Master was wearing his full vestments and seated on his dharma throne. I actually paid my respects to the teacher as Yeshe Tsogyal, and visualized myself transforming into a girl of about sixteen. First two lamas came forward to offer khatas, and then Je Tsongkhapa held a vessel filled with water and, dipping his fingers, sprinkled water over my crown to bestow a lineage empowerment while reciting sutra texts. The empowerment ceremony was quite brief and ended in a moment. He then changed into the plain robes of an ordinary lama and accompanied me as I paid homage through the various halls.

When I entered the hall that houses the Master’s stupa, I knelt and began to prostrate. After three prostrations I wanted to do a few more, but the Master reached out and pulled at my arm, saying, “All that is just for show for others’ sake. Why are you bowing here endlessly? I’m standing right beside you.” Even so, I did two more prostrations, and only then laughed as I stood up.

A short while later we turned into the Master’s living quarters. Seeing the place where he had once stayed, a feeling of loss and longing washed over me; suddenly my heart ached and tears welled up in my eyes. The Master smiled gently beside me and said kindly, “Don’t cry. If you can carry forward my lineage and let it flourish, that will be the best memorial for me.” Hearing this, I swallowed my tears, resolutely turned around, and left that little room. On the way I asked the Master why he hadn’t come to give me lessons each morning as originally planned. He replied, “I’ve already given you more than thirty sessions.” I thought for a moment and realized that matters in the realm of supranormal states are inconceivable; perhaps at some time my spirit had gone out to attend the lessons, and because I cannot yet dwell in samadhi in all activities—walking, standing, sitting, lying—I simply hadn’t known.

After we had visited several halls it was nearly noon. The Master said, “It’s midday; better go back early and rest.” I waved goodbye to him before a large hall and watched as he stood on the steps for a while, gazing at me until I reached a slope, and then he vanished.

With the Master’s voice and smiling face still vivid in my mind, I walked along a gravelly slope. Suddenly, from beneath my left foot, a little blue lion about the size of a Pekinese dog appeared, adorable and lovely, and it promptly seized the cuff of my left trouser leg. Caught off guard, my right leg had already taken a long stride forward while my left foot couldn’t keep up, and I tumbled to one knee on the sandy path. My right knee and my left ankle were probably scraped raw, burning painfully. Sensing that it had caused trouble, the blue lion bolted back into the hall in the blink of an eye. There, a lama was chanting sutras, and the lion plunged straight into his heart and vanished into his body. The lama immediately stopped chanting, looking around nervously and furtively, as if checking whether anyone was coming after him. And from my place I could hear the lama’s heartbeat inside the hall like a drum being beaten—it sounded as though he had just sprinted at full speed and was thoroughly frightened.

After I picked myself up from the ground, the Four Heavenly Kings descended from the clouds and alighted beside me, asking if anything was wrong. Because ever since I had entered the monastery I had been with Je Tsongkhapa the whole time, the Four Heavenly Kings who serve as my Dharma protectors had been keeping watch from afar among the clouds. Worried that they would go after the blue lion, I quickly smiled and said, “Nothing at all, nothing at all—that little lion was only playing.” But it seemed that the Four Heavenly Kings did not see it that way; although they said nothing more, I felt a wave of anger fill the air around me.

Just as I was about to reach the car, I glanced back and saw an image appear in midair: two disciplinary monks were beating the buttocks of the lama who had been chanting with boards. They struck him a full thirty blows, as if Je Tsongkhapa had learned of the incident. I hesitated a long while, wanting to plead on behalf of the little lion, but by then the beating was over and the image had already faded, so I had no choice but to get into the car and set off.

On the way back to the Lhasa city center, I began by reciting the Six-Syllable Great Bright Mantra. After a while my mouth felt dry, so I stopped, closed my eyes, and rested. With my eyes shut, I saw four multicolored auspicious clouds supporting the four wheels of the car from below, and each of the Four Heavenly Kings was stationed beside a wheel, moving along with the vehicle. I also noticed that at some point a pointed hat of a Gelug monk had appeared on my head, and the seat I was sitting on seemed to have transformed into a glowing golden dharma throne. I couldn’t feel myself sitting in a car at all, nor was I aware of any bumps on the road; it felt exactly as though I were gliding forward on a cloud. Once I saw this, I felt at ease, knowing that there would be no trouble on the journey, and I drifted off for a drowsy nap in the car.

After lunch I went to Sera Monastery. I made a brief prostration in the main hall, then entered a side hall where there was a long queue of people. I followed the crowd around to the front of the statue, though I didn’t get a clear look at what Buddha it was; I vaguely saw that it was a yab-yum deity of the Secret School, so I paid my respects and left the hall. Just as I was about to enter another side hall, a voice in the air said, “You must go back to the hall you just left and retrieve something.” Hearing this, I hurried back to the yab-yum hall, found a corner near the entrance, stood still, placed my palms together, and entered samadhi. Suddenly I saw myself transformed into the form of Hayagriva, my neck like a dragon’s spine, smooth and powerful and stretched out long, the horse head seeming to rise into midair as I let out a great cry—the first half like the voice of a man, the second half like the neigh of a horse, somewhat terrifying. My mouth was half open, holding a jewel the size of a fist, and my entire horse body radiated white light that then turned into golden light. Then in the air I saw Yeshe Tsogyal and Hayagriva locked in an embrace, performing union practice. Yet I, sitting in samadhi in the corner of the hall, felt Hayagriva spit that jewel from the air into my mouth, followed by a ceaseless stream of red beads flowing from his mouth into mine. At the same time, inwardly I saw three streams of red flame rise from my perineum along my left, central, and right channels, without any sensation of heat. The three flames burned all the way up the channels to the crown cakra, and the red beads I swallowed flowed continuously into the central channel. Before Hayagriva and Yeshe Tsogyal performed union, he took the necklace from around his throat and placed it around my neck; the beads of that necklace were huge, each the size of an egg, and they emanated light.

After a while I emerged from samadhi, and the image of Hayagriva and Yeshe Tsogyal also vanished.

Leaving this hall, I entered another great hall. Inside, when I reached the shrine of Yamantaka and pressed my palms together in worship, I suddenly felt myself transform into a girl of about sixteen and rise into the air to engage in union practice with Yamantaka. I saw my left, central, and right channels become three pillars of white light, and Yamantaka’s tongue was extraordinarily long—it stretched from my mouth all the way deep into my central channel, the tip reaching my perineum cakra, and it felt as though there was still another half-length of his tongue folded inside his mouth. That vast, long tongue moved up and down within my central channel, and a voice in the air said, “You should be grateful to the great yidam Yamantaka—how extraordinary!” At the same time gratitude arose in my heart. Yamantaka moved his tongue inside my central channel for a long while, then withdrew it into his mouth and spat out countless red pills, which he sent into my mouth and into my central channel. After this continued for a time, the form of Yamantaka suddenly left me and dissolved into the statue in the shrine. I emerged from samadhi and left the hall.

After coming out, I felt that my left, central, and right channels had become extraordinarily clean, and my brain and heart channels were translucent and crystalline, as if made of crystal, utterly without any impurity.

It was already past five in the afternoon when I left Sera Monastery, so I took the car back to the hotel.

June 26

Morning meditation—my mind kept circling around some troubling matters, and I couldn’t settle into samadhi for a long time. Then a sudden realization dawned: sentient beings, because of attachment, care about relatives, friends, enemies, and foes, and just these people weave an immense “net of worldly human entanglements” that traps them, keeping them from freedom. Sentient beings are also attached to the various beautiful things of this world, and so they are detained by this world, cycling through rebirth after rebirth without end. And sentient beings cherish their own bodies too much, thus they are imprisoned in this very body as if locked in a cage. Since I know this, why do I keep repeating the same mistake? As soon as this thought arose, I immediately cast aside all the external fetters troubling my heart, and my chest suddenly expanded with spacious clarity. The light of body and mind shone forth at once, and within that light I saw the many changes in the energy channels as if I didn’t see them at all, too lazy to make any distinctions, leaving only an open, empty, and tranquil expanse between heaven and earth!

June 29

Jottings

the girl who prostrated for the first time

had no idol

never knew whom she would surrender to in this life

when for the very first time

her posture was perfect

but as her stiff body stretched out full-length on the ground

tears instantly spilled over her eyes

she did not know whether the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas before her

truly existed

whether they truly gazed down upon the suffering of sentient beings

whether the sacred mountains and holy lakes in the distance

truly had deities protecting the life of that land

she did not know

towards religion she was still bewildered

she could not yet generate enough faith, devotion, and fervor

yet she prostrated herself for the first time before a Buddha statue

for the first time she lowered her proud head

she pressed her forehead to the ground

her palms turned upward and placed beside her head

she wept

this action stirred the divinity deep within her soul

and this feeling was something she had never known in this life

within her fear there was longing

in that kshana

she did not know exactly what she was seeking

because in this act

her position was too low

she felt that as she lay prostrate here

she needed to look up at everything

for the first time she sensed her own insignificance

she wept

because together with that prostration

had also fallen her pride and her self-conceit

for the first time she was pressed so close to the earth

she seemed to hear her own heartbeat rising from the earth’s core

for the first time when she laid down absolutely everything of herself

she suddenly felt the call of the divine

a flash of spiritual light shot through her mind in a kshana

her whole body trembled

she heard the thunder in the sky

she felt the earth spinning

within the light she saw majestic mountains, holy lakes

compassionate and wrathful Buddhas

in that kshana

only because she was without thought

only because she placed herself so low that she disappeared

she understood the true meaning of “blessing”

nectar descended from heaven

she did not know what she was

she became a kind of presence

ecstasy overflowed from that presence

she looked down upon the entire firmament

out of insignificance and selflessness

she suddenly awakened to the sacred and the sublime!

June 30

Morning meditation—countless states arose simultaneously both inside and outside my body: scenes from past lives, or the mountains, waters, flowers, birds, and people around me. My body felt ethereal and luminous, continuously generating all manner of things from within and without, while I myself remained empty and still, not making distinctions among the states, not even looking on, simply abiding unmoved. Suddenly a snake slightly thicker than a thumb coiled around my neck; I let it be, too lazy to bother with it. Then a sharp pain seized my right shoulder—it had probably bitten me. At that moment I saw a hand suddenly stretch down from midair, seize the snake just behind its head, lift it up, and fling it away to the far side of the hill behind my house. I knew this was one of the Four Heavenly Kings who serve as my Dharma protectors helping me, so I silently offered thanks in my heart.

Afternoon meditation—a voice suddenly said, “A snake king has come to visit.” In an instant I saw the ground inside and all around the house crawling with every kind of snake, and in the air in the center of the room was a black snake several zhang long. I could see only its head and half its body; its tail was nowhere in sight. Its head was not large, but its eyes and forehead were bulging, and its head had many facets—I had never seen a snake of this appearance before.

The snake’s voice was old, saying, “I pay my respects, Bodhisattva.” I returned its greeting and wished it well. The Snake King continued: “This morning one of my children went out to play. Seeing the Bodhisattva’s whole body radiating light, he mistook it for some rare treasure and climbed onto you, thus offending you. Had it not been for the Bodhisattva’s compassion and the heavenly king’s mercy, my child would have long since lost his life. This afternoon I have especially brought my child here to apologize, and also to thank the Bodhisattva for her magnanimity.” At this I understood the Snake King’s purpose: the small snake that had coiled around my neck that morning was its son. I said, “Children are playful by nature; it was no great fault. I hope the Snake King will not scold him too harshly.” At that moment, the little snake was frolicking mischievously on the Snake King’s body. At these words, the Snake King dropped the matter and said, “I have come today to bring some offerings to the Bodhisattva.” As it spoke, my meditation room floor was suddenly covered with glittering gold. Then the Snake King flicked out its long, sharply pointed tongue and produced a red glaze bead about the size of a broad bean, perfectly round, suspended in the air before me, glowing. The Snake King said, “I wish to offer this elixir to the Bodhisattva.” Just as I was about to refuse, a voice said, “Please accept the offering; the Snake King still has a request.” So I opened my mouth and swallowed the bead. It came to rest in my throat and soon dissolved into the energy channels there. Seeing that I had accepted its offering, the Snake King spoke again: “I have come first to apologize for my son, and second because I have a favor to ask of the Bodhisattva. In the mountain behind this house lives a mountain spirit called Moyecha. Its appearance is ferocious, its powers great; it constantly bullies the creatures of this mountain. The spirit delights in devouring live snakes, and our kind have been massacred without number. I hope the Bodhisattva will uphold justice, punish the evildoer, and save us. I have one more request: I have dwelt in this mountain for over twenty thousand years, and I hope you can perform a ritual of deliverance for all the snakes here, releasing us from these snake bodies.” The Snake King finished speaking and looked at me, full of hope, without another word.

I said, “Very well, I will grant all your requests. You may set your heart at rest.” The Snake King nodded and said, “Bodhisattva, I take my leave.” Leading the mass of snakes, it rapidly withdrew behind the western mountain. I saw the snake’s head had long since passed behind the ridge, but its tail was still at the foot of the slope.

After the Snake King departed, I saw White-Robed Guanyin suddenly appear in the sky and call three times toward the mountain: “Moyecha spirit!” A creature half bird, half human flew out from behind the mountain. Only when it halted in the air before me could I see it clearly: two upright ears like a wolf’s, a pig’s snout, leopard eyes shooting golden light, two long black tusks in its mouth, six arms, and a human body. A heavenly king said, “Moyecha spirit, why do you not bow before Guanyin Bodhisattva?” The spirit let out a weird, mocking laugh to the sky and said, “I have done no wrong; why should I feel guilty and rush to bow before the Bodhisattva?” Guanyin said, “As mountain spirit of this region, you ought to protect the living beings here. Why do you abuse your spiritual power to bully the weak? The Snake King has reported that you habitually eat live snakes — is this true?” The spirit replied arrogantly, “I eat a thousand snakes a day; that’s not many. Don’t snakes eat creatures weaker than themselves? How can you say I’m bullying the weak?” Guanyin said, “When snakes eat weaker creatures, they do so only to sustain life and fill their bellies, within the workings of cause and effect. But you, as a mountain spirit, are of a far higher life order. With your powers you can easily find other food. Why must you slaughter sentient beings for the sake of appetite? Do you not wish to attain true attainment?” At these words, the mountain spirit lowered its head and fell silent, as though repenting. Then, with a touch of sorrow, it said, “I was once a golden-winged Garuda, a dharma protector. But I transgressed heavenly law and was demoted to this mountain, condemned to this form. I still hope for the Bodhisattva’s deliverance.” The Bodhisattva said, “I shall now grant you an empowerment and let you enter the samadhi of food and drink, so that a few meals a year will suffice. I hope that from now on you will no longer eat snakes. If you must eat, let it be only the flesh of animals already dead.” The mountain spirit drew near the Bodhisattva, lowered its head, and the head transformed into that of a huge golden-winged Garuda. The Bodhisattva sprinkled water on its head and recited mantras. When the empowerment ended, the spirit bowed in thanks and swore an oath: “I will henceforth shut myself in a cave on this mountain and practice cultivation, never again harming other living beings. In the future I will serve as a dharma protector of the Buddha’s teachings.” I watched him enter a dark cave behind the mountain and vanish. The White-Robed Guanyin merged with my own body. At the same time, on the western mountain, I saw the Snake King leading the throng of snakes in jubilation; the Snake King was so moved it wept.

After my spirit returned from dealing with this matter, I resumed meditation. I perceived my neck becoming a column of light, within which appeared the forms and dependent origination of various animals — moisture-born, womb-born, transformation-born, egg-born — cycling endlessly. Because the throat cakra belongs to the sambhogakaya wheel, such visions arise when the energy channels of the throat are transformed. I sat quietly, fixing my attention on the throat cakra, not discriminating among the visions but allowing them to arise and cease of themselves. Suddenly I heard the sound of a bell above my head, and my two ears took on the shape of vajras. The energy channels of the throat cakra also assumed the form of a vajra. Red light, blue light, and white light appeared at my throat. I heard the sound of ocean tides and the cries of animals. My neck tilted backward of its own accord and began a rhythmic arc from back to front, like a celestial crane dipping its beak in water. With the surging of my neck, continuous belches rose from my chest and throat. Both shoulders twitched in sympathy, like a great bird spreading its wings. This continued for more than ten minutes, then my head and shoulders grew still. My head and neck filled with white light; my neck turned blue. My breathing became extremely subtle, as if almost nonexistent. At that moment I heard the guru’s voice: “That’s all for today.” A bell and a hand were withdrawn from my crown, and I saw the guru leave my side.

July 1

By the time I finished reading Who Turned the Nurse into an Angel: The Great Life of Florence Nightingale, it was nearly two in the morning.

The book’s pages flashed everywhere with Nightingale’s self-forgetful passion, her selfless dedication, and her iron will. She never married. When she finally refused the proposal of the man who had waited seven years, she wrote painfully in her diary: “He is perhaps the man I have loved most — and the only one — in this life.” She knew the latent conflict between her work and marriage, and she chose to offer herself completely so that she could pour her whole being into the cause she loved. While reading her story, I felt as if I myself had become part of Nightingale. As a woman, I could sense the tender heart with its hundred secret turns behind her strong exterior; I could also understand what someone with a sense of mission carries inside. To most people, a career is simply a job to be done. But to a person with a sense of mission, success and glory mean nothing to her, and the scorn and slander of others are long since set aside. She knows only that there is one thing she must do, a duty she cannot shirk, and that her very life exists for this. Perhaps throughout the work she suffered, was lost, hesitated, was racked with guilt; she seldom found the tracks of earlier travelers, and at times no one followed behind. Yet once she found the path she was meant to take, she could not pause for a single second, nor would she — this seemed to be her heaven-sent calling. Perhaps she felt wronged and hurt in her heart, perhaps she even grumbled aloud, but her steps never stopped. This was determined by her innate character and personality. Nothing could defeat her, and this did not come from her toughness but from her ordinary heart. She held an ordinary understanding of her own work, an understanding stripped of selfish desire and fame, because in the stride of a striver too much had already been given for the undertaking’s success. How could later bouquets and applause compare with what she had paid? She steadfastly did each thing that was required to fulfill her mission, never thinking of the future. Everything she did was a duty she could not decline, everything she was supposed to do. Merit or fault, right or wrong — let later generations judge freely.

July 2

I wasn’t feeling well today. I chanted mantras for two hours in the morning and rested and read in the afternoon. Gazing at the white clouds swirling around the distant Western Hills, I was moved to write:

Who has borrowed the Weaver Maiden’s hands on the Western Hills To send white brocade flying around the peaks?

In reverie, I am already a monk among these mountains — So deep in cloud, I need never return from my long dwelling.

July 3

In the early morning, half-awake, I was stirred by the cry of the vajra bird and wrote:

In a dream I suddenly heard the vajra bird Shouting aloud, “Impermanence and emptiness!”

Alas, the Saha world prizes fame and gain; The one who truly understands turned out to be a bird’s cry.

A verse on my meditation state:

White clouds billow and surge within my breast; Above my head hangs suspended a stretch of sky.

The four elements turn to light, nowhere to be found — The central channel builds a bridge connecting heaven and earth.

July 6

During morning meditation, I saw myself sitting in a monastery while the guru directed several lamas in erecting wooden strips around me. The monks wore yellow hats; I deduced that this was a Gelugpa monastery. The wooden blocks were neatly arranged and uniform in length and were arranged around me into a conical structure. At the top of the cone was placed an image inscribed with Tibetan script, apparently the Six-Syllable Great Bright Mantra. In the gaps between the wooden strips were many images of the Eleven-Faced Guanyin. The wood was sandalwood. Outside the wooden structure a circle was drawn, and a transparent light canopy seemed to descend from the sky over the wooden pieces. When everything was ready, a dozen or so lamas sat in a ring around me and began loudly chanting mantras while the guru held a bell and kept ringing it above my crown. Whenever my mind grew even slightly distracted, the urgent ringing immediately pulled me back. After a while, I became more and more still. Suddenly, the surrounding wood caught fire, and in an instant I became that transparent light canopy. Then rainbow light rapidly rose through all my main energy channels, and in a flash the channels themselves disappeared entirely. I dissolved into a mass of rainbow light. Beyond that, I could remember nothing of the state. I emerged from samadhi roughly two hours later.

After lunch, I went to Lama Ridge. The scenery near the ridge was beautiful. I walked straight into the monastery. Its main hall was a handsome three-story stupa. The first floor was dedicated to Padmasambhava. When I paid homage to Guru Rinpoche, he told me to fix my awareness on the central channel and said that two snakes would soon appear in my channels; I should not be alarmed. The snakes were highly venomous and were meant to purge toxins from my channels — poison against poison. No sooner had I settled my attention on the central channel than I saw two snakes dart up and down in my left and right channels, then rapidly race through every channel of my four limbs and entire body. I felt nothing at all. The snakes shot up and down inside me at a dizzying speed. After a brief moment, they left my body and appeared in Padmasambhava’s hands.

After thanking Guru Rinpoche, I climbed to the second floor, which was dedicated to the Four-Armed Guanyin. While I was bowing in worship, the Four-Armed Guanyin suddenly transformed into the Six-Armed Mahakala, the Great Black Protector. He handed me something like a talisman and spoke some prophecy; I immediately saw myself also transform into the Six-Armed Mahakala. On the same floor I also saw a ninety-nine-armed blue-skinned deity, which I was told was a Hindu god.

I went up to the third floor, where Amitayus Buddha was enshrined. Just as I was about to make obeisance, the entire stupa vanished before my eyes. In its place appeared a primeval wilderness. Where the stupa had stood now stood a circular stone wall; at its center was an enormous stone-carved phallus, an object of worship. This was the phallus worship of ancient Bon in Tibet. I realized I was seeing a vision of this region’s past, when the Bon religion flourished. Suddenly the huge phallus emitted white radiance, turned into a white column of light, and entered my central channel. From the phallus sprayed countless white points of light for a long time before everything returned to its original state. Then, above my head, emerged over ten black four-legged dragons, the dharma protectors of Bon. They clustered around a golden-yellow jeweled crown as it descended from the sky, adorned with countless gems — round, somewhat like a monk’s alms bowl. When the crown was placed on my head, the scene vanished, and I found myself standing once more in the third-floor hall. But the interior layout was completely different from when I had entered: there were no Buddha images. On a high, throne-like chair set slightly left of center sat a Dharma King I did not recognize. He wore a small crown with many golden ribbons hanging from it; the crown itself resembled a golden topknot. He was dressed in maroon robes inside and a yellow cloak outside, an imposing figure. His face was rather dark, his build medium, his eyes deep-set and piercing, like two sharp swords thrusting at a person. He studied me for a moment and then introduced himself: “I am ××××duo, the founder of Bon. Today you have come to my seat of practice, received Bon empowerment” — he meant the phallus entering my central channel — “and accepted the dharma king’s crown of Bon. Now … please drink this.” As he spoke, he handed me a vessel shaped like an ancient bronze ritual cup, filled with red, blood-colored liquid. A voice in the air said, “Drink it quickly,” so I took it and drained it in one gulp. The Dharma King said, “This contains the blood of over seventy kinds of animals, as well as my own blood.” He took back the cup and glanced to his left, where a screen seemed to lead to another room. Two Tibetan girls emerged, each carrying a tray. They approached me, extending the trays and bowing their heads and bodies slightly. I took a rectangular piece of dried cheese curd from one tray and ate it. It was delicious and crumbled instantly in my mouth. After finishing one piece, I waved my hand to indicate I wanted no more, and the two girls withdrew with bowed heads.

I thanked the Dharma King of Bon and took my leave. Yet as I turned to go, he suddenly stood up from his Dharma seat and said, “Would you be willing to practice dual cultivation with me?” A small doubt stirred inside me, but a voice from the air said, “Quickly, agree.” So I turned back and nodded. In an instant, the Dharma King and I clasped each other in midair. In a kshana, both our bodies utterly vanished, and in their place a white ring thick as a thumb took form in the air — a ring blazing like a blinding incandescent lamp, yet with what looked like thick mist within it. I heard the Dharma King’s voice say, “You are not empty enough. Your energy channels are this poor — what kind of blessing have your masters given you?” Because he belittled my teachers, I held my tongue. After what seemed a long silence, the mist inside gradually thinned and became a dimly glowing body of light, and the objects in the hall were reflected upon it. The dim glow steadily faded, as though beginning to turn to emptiness, but on my side a brightness still veiled it. At that moment, the Dharma King’s two hands became visible, and he struck both palms toward the ring. A Dharma wheel abruptly appeared inside. The Dharma King said, “Oh, Padmasambhava has already purified your channels and placed a Dharma wheel there; let me lend you a hand as well.” With one palm he struck the Dharma wheel, and instantly my body reappeared, and I saw within every chakra of my body an identical Dharma wheel spinning. At the same time, the Dharma King and I separated, and I saw that he had returned to his original Dharma seat, and I saw his… He said, “I’m tired; I need to rest.” Without warning, he rose into the air, vanished from the seat, and a dozen or so golden lotuses appeared in the sky. I stood a while longer, then said my farewells and left.

When I had stepped outside the hall, I turned to look back once more, and the hall abruptly vanished, giving way to a scene from a prehistoric age. All around, mountains ringed the area, and weeds grew thick. A stretch of marshland resembled a woman’s vulva, and in the middle of its horseshoe shape, a natural fissure split the earth, gushing water that formed a shallow lake. A dragon with a single tooth had coiled there in cultivation, and after attaining the Way it took rebirth and founded Bon. This single-toothed dragon was the very ancestor of Bon; the Bon masters who later contended in spiritual combat with Padmasambhava were many generations removed from it. Now the prehistoric landscape surfaced again: the lake lay covered by all manner of trees and weeds, and the Dharma King I had just seen changed back into that dragon, resting there with its eyes closed. Its head was huge and green, its mouth slightly open, a single tooth at the center. I could see its upper body and head; the skin on its back somewhat resembled that of a crocodile. But its lower half and tail were buried deep in the mire, hidden from view. And from this state, I also learned certain things about the early days of Bon… According to what Padmasambhava said, the Tibetan Buddhism of earlier times absorbed elements of Bon and Hinduism.

In my contact with this founder of Bon, I could see that his spiritual power, and his capacity to bless and transform my physical body and energy channels, were in no way weaker than the masters who had transmitted the true Dharma to me. Yet he had ego-clinging, self-conceit, jealousy, and anger, and these became the very source of suffering and affliction, with the result that neither he nor his followers could achieve liberation — they could only wander through birth and death. However high his spiritual power or his supranormal powers, his teachings were not fully perfected.

July 7

Reflections on how to regard an enlightened teacher:

One. A Buddha’s teaching is always suited to the capacity of the listener. In the same way, the teaching of an enlightened teacher is also suited to the capacity of the listener. If you take what the Buddha said to those of lesser capacity and compare it with what an enlightened teacher says to a student of the very highest capacity — and because of your absolute faith in the Buddha you then deny and slander the enlightened teacher — you are deluded, and you are also slandering the Buddha, because you mistake your own view for the Buddha’s insight.

Two. If you are unable to find an enlightened teacher, or to recognize one, then even if you cannot uphold the precepts perfectly, please keep your body, mind, and speech upright. Do many good deeds, accumulate much merit and virtue, and form many wholesome connections, so that you may become attuned to the true Dharma and to good knowing advisors. Then, as you travel the path of cultivation, before you even realize it, you will receive the blessing of all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, and the help of good knowing advisors.

Excerpt:

My own faults pile up like mountains — I see none; A teacher’s flaw, fine as autumn down — I see clear as day.

When the Dharma does not match me, it is truly so; Repent with diligence, constantly hold it in mind.

The mind of faith in the teacher must not be weak, The mind that seeks the teacher must not be excessive.

Seeking and not finding, one gives rise to slander — Violating the fundamental precept, always bear it in mind!

In Praise of Patriarch Milarepa Who Lived on Nettles

His Way-forged frame stretched forth, his whole body green; His work across a thousand autumns brings one to tears!

Who could have imagined that in a wildfire among rock springs He would boil away all the sins and blessings of the human world.

In Praise of Dharma Teacher Xingzhong

Indifferent to fame, devoted to Chan inquiry, Even tsampa goes down easily.

Yet pitying the suffering of the Dharma-Ending Age, He refuses money offered with contempt.

The Light of the Dharma Realm Melts Ego-Clinging

Do not grieve that ego-clinging is most stubborn — Rejoice instead that it merges into the light of the Dharma Realm.

Do you not know, the black iron buried deep below With the right heat upon arriving home, it is forged into steel.

July 8

At noon I recalled some past events and thought about the corruption and self-conceit among the monks of today’s temples; my heart was still heavy and melancholy. When I thought of the state of Buddhism, I could not calm myself or face it with detachment. I knew that the present condition of Buddhism could never be changed by “passion” alone; it requires forbearance and the willingness to shoulder heavy burdens, wisdom, and great loving kindness and compassion. To broadly propagate the Dharma also requires genuine cultivation and realization, authentic insight. What use is mere sighing, pessimism, and complaint? And what have I myself done? What use is a heart filled only with the compassionate vow to repay the four great kindnesses above and to rescue beings on the Three Lower Paths below? I must truly carry these vow-powers into action and root them deep in my heart. In fact, many monastics and lay Buddhists share the same vows as I do. It is only that some people are powerless to withstand the many temptations of this world, powerless to master themselves, so their cultivation is even more bitter. Without an enlightened teacher to guide them, they wander at the crossroads between the secular and the spiritual, utterly lost. That I have been blessed with such good fortune to meet an enlightened teacher and receive direct instruction, and to obtain the blessing of all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas — I must surely apply myself with vigor, never dishonoring my teacher’s command, so as to repay his kindness and the Buddha’s kindness.

Everything has its causes and conditions. I must at all times maintain mindful awareness. From now on, words of complaint or resentment must never be heard from my mouth, nor any mood of indignation. I should be neither impatient nor irritable, but always keep my mind peaceful, cool, and clear. In dealing with others, I must be sincere, courteous, respectful, and agreeable, think more of others’ feelings, and not be self-righteous or act on impulse. I must learn to appreciate others, to care for and love everyone around me, even if they are not what I would like them to be. First, I should let go of my many attachments and discriminations, my many judgments of good and bad, beautiful and ugly — let my grievances, forbearance, and helplessness all blow away with the wind. Since I seek the Great Way, compared with the ancient worthies I am already practicing in a “heavenly realm,” having suffered no hardship at all; what is there still that I cannot let go of or set aside? If I just gave myself away in giving, what would it matter? After all, sentient beings have not yet come to cut my flesh or gouge out my eyes — what is there still to begrudge? I have already lived over thirty years without any real accomplishment; what would it matter if I devoted the remaining decades, with all my heart and strength, to the cause of Buddhism? In my heart, every other career, fame, or profit in the human world is so trivial it is not worth a mention. It grieves me that although I have practiced Cultivation and Realization for more than ten years and have had such an excellent teacher to guide me, my wisdom is still insufficient, my habitual tendencies and desires not yet exhausted, my level of realization unable to fully manifest — and all I have is a heart full of compassionate vows. I can only wring my hands and sigh!

Notes on Reading Chan Koans:

At noon I read some Chan koans. The great Chan masters, in their fencing of wit, pushed the student until there was no way in and no way out: you could not go east or west, above, below, or in any of the four quarters — there was no path at all. To pick up was wrong, to put down was wrong; raising an eyebrow or sticking out the tongue was already too much. If you dared utter a single word, you could not guarantee which word would cling. And the moment any clinging arose, thirty blows of the staff came at you until you trembled with nowhere to set your feet.

Then all at once, body and mind were utterly forgotten, with no discrimination whatever. Thirty years of searching had not found it; now it came without the slightest effort. Looking up: vast and boundless, all Buddhas were right there in the sky. Looking down: broad and open, every road led straight to the jeweled mountain. Everywhere your eyes fell, it was lush and shimmering with golden light — where was not written the wordless true scripture? Every drop, every speck — where was it not? From that moment, with a settled mind, the mad mind ceased. When hungry, one ate; when tired, one slept. To speak of the Way was right; not to speak was also right. Raising the brows and smoothing the eyes, even shitting and farting — all of it was Chan!

Self-Examination: I realize that in conversation, my habitual tendencies still leak out, and my ego-clinging is still heavy. I constantly have the desire to justify myself. But when I think carefully: have I truly done everything perfectly? Compared with a compassionate Bodhisattva, am I not far, far short? Since I have not done things perfectly and am not satisfied with myself, what is the point of rushing to explain my inner feelings? Is it to make others conclude from my imperfect words and actions that I am perfect? That my views are right? That everything I have done has a reason? — all as a way to cover up my selfish desires and habitual tendencies by finding all sorts of excuses. Since I cannot act as well as a Bodhisattva, I should sincerely reflect and silently correct myself. Do not speak flawlessly with the mouth, only to fall short again when circumstances arise. True cultivation means keeping the mind firmly on the path. I must stop making excuses for myself. I am already sick of hearing my own self-justifying words; I have begun to deeply despise the way these two lips of mine flip back and forth in glib “round harmony.” I must unify mind and action, make every word that comes from my mouth a golden word, every word able to benefit sentient beings, every sentence true words — never empty talk!

Sentient beings’ habitual tendencies, desires, and discriminations are very heavy. Even if you do things perfectly, there will still be people who find all kinds of faults, let alone when your own actions often have many “holes” and “handles” for others to seize as material for their “huatou.” Yet the only thing to do is to be completely open and honest in your heart, free of selfishness, with a straight mind — that is the Bodhimanda. As long as you constantly think of others, constantly hold sentient beings in mind, I believe others will truly understand you, and true care and protection will come in return. Why worry that the inner feelings of your own heart have no one to understand them? Why must you pour them out? Take each person’s suffering as your own. When someone confides in you about their inner depression, their conflicts, their wounds, a Bodhisattva forgets herself utterly, shares the suffering, the joy, the tears of that sentient being, and then sincerely consoles them and gives them the help of wisdom to resolve each problem, so that they can unknot their heart. Can I do that in every moment? Cultivation is nothing but constantly correcting every wrong action and wrong view, aligning them with the Way and drawing closer and closer to the qualities of a Buddha or Bodhisattva. If you do not do this, then even if you remain in samadhi twenty-four hours a day and spend your whole life in retreat in a mountain cave, you will never become a Bodhisattva, let alone a perfectly and fully awakened Buddha. All Buddhas and Bodhisattvas are surely selfless, surely loving-kindness and compassion, universal love! I am deeply ashamed!

July 9

Some people live and sacrifice only for themselves, their children, or their parents; such a person may be called a person of feeling. Others go beyond the bounds of private affection and can sacrifice for friends, for the workers of their company, for those who need their help; a sense of responsibility driven by conscience and love has already entered their lives — such a person possesses human integrity. But to be a Bodhisattva in the Saha World, one is destined to live for the sake of all beings in the Three Realms. In each thought, there is only the rescue of sentient beings from the Six Paths of Rebirth; every action is solely for the benefit of sentient beings. When one acts in this way, one’s heart becomes vast and boundless, and one’s blessings also become vast and boundless. Perhaps sentient beings cannot see the fame, profit, or status that they are fond of in such a person, but the treasure that this person has obtained is inexhaustible, and only that person knows how immeasurably rich he or she is, enough to enjoy through life after life. The heart is at peace, content, and no longer has any desire at all.

Reading my teacher’s books, I find him earnestly and tirelessly urging cultivators to renounce the world and to attain genuine realization, not to chatter emptily about Buddhism. Yet it is precisely these two points that, from ancient times to the present, have been the hardest for cultivators to achieve. How many people have shaved their heads, lived in caves, or spent long periods in meditation rooms — but have they truly renounced? Their hearts remain tethered to the red dust of the world, chasing after fame and material gain. And how many, just as the water was about to boil in their practice, have been disturbed by inner demons and outer demons, become disheartened, and withdrawn? In the Dharma-Ending Age, for sentient beings to accomplish these two things is even harder. Alas, those who cultivate the Way are as numerous as ox hairs, but those who attain the Way are now rarer than a phoenix feather or a unicorn horn—none can be found. Countless students can recite the sutras fluently and spout glib Chan talk that sounds dazzling, yet each arising and movement of their thoughts is steeped in greed, anger, delusion, pride, and doubt.

I once hoped to attain full supranormal powers, like Patriarch Milarepa and Master Ralo, so that I could use more skillful means to help others. But my teacher said, “If you have no mind, you can already help others.” I said that in the Dharma-Ending Age sentient beings cling to appearances; with supranormal powers, helping them would be easier. The teacher said, “Supranormal powers can only fulfill beings’ wishes, but they cannot purify their bodies and minds.” I said, “At the very least, supranormal powers can cause beings to give rise to faith in cultivating and realizing the Dharma.” The teacher said, “Not necessarily.” When I thought it over carefully, I saw that it was indeed so. From then on, I sought only to purify my own mind and understand my own mind. Wind, flowers, snow, and moon; winters passing, autumns arriving — let mental states come and go freely. Whether supranormal powers are present or not means nothing. I only want to realize and enter the stage of “no mind.”

July 10

That morning, after tidying the room and doing laundry, I sat in meditation. Suddenly I saw my Master set a table before my meditation bed. On it he placed two tall crane-shaped lamps and a three-legged incense burner I often used for offerings, with one stick of incense burning. Then he arranged on the table live fish, conch shells, a bleeding ox head, animal organs, and the like. At first the fish flopped wildly, but the Master gently stroked them and they became still. All these things had been brought by a Tibetan man; once the Master had set out the offerings, the man pressed his palms together respectfully, bowed slightly to the Master, and the Master dismissed him. I asked, “Should we give him some money?” The Master said, “I have arranged it. Today we are going to make an offering to the mountain gods of this area.” Then the Master sat beside me on the meditation bed, hands forming mudras, and began reciting mantras. After a while, a group of figures approached from ahead. The one leading carried in both hands a large incense burner with three sticks of incense, fragrant smoke coiling upward. When the group reached the offering table, I saw clearly that the lead mountain god had a black dragon’s head and ox horns. He placed his incense burner on the offering table as well (meaning a reciprocal offering and return of courtesy), then raised his grayish-blue eyes and glanced at the Master and me, and without ceremony picked up the offerings (I saw that the hands beneath his robes were dragon claws). He sat down in a circle with the mountain gods behind him, devouring the food crudely. While they ate, I came to know the origins of these mountain gods. The lead deity was the mountain god of Mount Benri, the chief of all the mountain gods in the Kongpo region; the other attendants each occupied a local peak and received offerings there, and all of them were followers of the Bön religion.

When the mountain gods had finished eating and risen, the Mount Benri deity expressed thanks on behalf of the others and said, “From now on, no matter where in this region you and your Master practice or bow to the Buddhas, we will set no obstacles and will do our utmost to assist you.” The Master replied, “Since arriving in the Nyingchi area, I have been too busy to pay my respects until today. Please accept my apologies.”

The Mount Benri deity smiled, looked at me, and said, “This lady Bodhisattva went to pay respects to our Supreme Teacher a few days ago. I hear that the Supreme Teacher is very fond of her and practiced union with her, so in a sense she is our teacher’s consort. Today I have specially brought some offerings for her.” At that moment, an attendant brought forward a tray bearing a pair of extremely finely embroidered shoes in the style of Tibetan court shoes, with a tall decorative fringe at the front, plus a silver neck ring, large gold earrings, and a fist-sized turquoise stone. I accepted the offerings and thanked the mountain god, and then the gods took their leave.

The Master removed the offering table and said to me, “A few days ago you paid respects to the Bön Supreme Teacher. Because the Teacher likes you and praised you, word reached the ears of these mountain gods, and they all wanted to see you, to find out what sort of woman their Supreme Teacher thinks so highly of. But the Four Heavenly Kings guard the entrance, so they could not meet you, and they didn’t want to offend the Kings. They have been crowding the area around where you’re staying, causing incessant drizzling and thick clouds, so today I gave word to the Four Heavenly Kings and made offerings to them according to conditions, to form good affinities.” I thought that was for the best and thanked the Master for his thorough consideration.

July 13

In the morning I read The Blue Annals; in the afternoon I sat in meditation. A little before five, I went to the riverside.

These past few days it had rained for a while every afternoon. As I took a taxi to the riverbank, dark clouds veiled the sun and the wind along the bank was strong. I walked along the shore, admiring the Nyang River before the rain—the current seemed even more turbulent. Distant mountains merged with the clouds; through the layered gaps in the dark clouds, the sun shot down mist-like beams of light that wrapped the overlapping peaks on the far bank, lending them a mysterious beauty. The rain never came down properly, only a few scattered drops, and the sky remained overcast. There were some people fishing along the river.

I walked along the long riverbank for a while, feeling that the scenery was beautiful and the air fresh, too. So I sat down on a stone step at the water’s edge and began to sit in meditation.

As soon as I settled, I suddenly thought of the stressful work and lives of my friends in City A, and many feelings rose in my heart. In human life, besides enjoying family happiness with parents, wife, and children in the mortal world, and then nurturing soaring ambitions to pursue endlessly expanding wishes, there is another kind of beauty—one that a person might spend an entire lifetime without ever experiencing, a tranquility that surpasses everything in this world.

When my mind reached the utmost tranquility, even as I sat upright in the wind and rain, the clamor of the river in my ears, my eyes sweeping over the mist-shrouded mountain ranges, I felt myself transcending all existence. At that moment there was no fame, no desire, no ambition, no competition, no aspiration, no ideal, no restrictive rules or rigid precepts, no question of conforming to the Way, no need to merge with the landscape or to forget the self entirely. I existed—very real, with flesh and blood, with feelings—yet inwardly I was transcendent. Everything in the world turned into scenery in that instant. The mind no longer needed to be deliberately quieted; the six sense faculties returned to detachment. Under the light of that detached, tranquil mind, the objects corresponding to the six faculties lost their accustomed patterns. Mountains were not necessarily green; rivers were not necessarily sapphire; clouds in the sky were not necessarily white… When colors no longer relied on sunlight but were illuminated by the light of the mind, they became richer. They could be any color in the universe—rivers turned red and yellow, mountains turned golden. All of it was natural, without deliberate tinting, without affectation.

In that stillness, one feels deeply content. Having no awareness of affliction or suffering, one also has no notion of what joy is. The heart is simply full, brimming with life. Sometimes that stillness would permeate even deafening noise, making the clamor part of the stillness, a leaping note in the melody of silence.

After sitting by the riverside for a while, I gradually entered samadhi. Suddenly I saw Padmasambhava riding a horse whose four hooves trod on auspicious clouds, galloping through the air. When he reached me, he reined in his horse and wheeled around once before halting in front of me. At that moment a light rain began to fall. In the samadhi, Padmasambhava gestured to the attendants following close behind, and they moved a large canopy over my head. Before I could fully make it out, just as I was about to express thanks, a voice like thunder boomed from the sky: “Brazen fiend! How dare you take on my appearance.” The instant the voice sounded, the “Padmasambhava,” his retinue, and the canopy before me vanished without a trace. Then a great ring of light appeared in the air, descended around me from my head down, and disappeared. A voice in the air said, “Just now a water buffalo took on my form to deceive you. That water buffalo has great power—even the Four Heavenly Kings were fooled by it just now.” I thanked Padmasambhava. His voice did not speak again, nor did any form appear in the sky. I gathered my mind; subject and object both forgotten, I saw only myself as a golden pillar of light linking with the sky. My body and mind remained in this state—breath and thought faint, barely present.

By seven o’clock the sky had cleared. The dark clouds dispersed, and sunlight shone bright overhead. Such piercing, intense sunlight in the early evening is unique to the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau. I rose from my meditation, walked a while longer along the riverbank, then took a taxi back to the hotel.

July 14

Self-reflection: my inner heart is still not pure enough. There remain things of a hypocritical, outwardly righteous kind lurking in my body and mind. As my practice continues, I have more clever words to cover them up, and I have actually come to believe it, thinking my heart is selfless. In truth, my habitual tendencies are not yet exhausted, and lately they have surfaced so plainly at times, like oily scum on clear water. I absolutely must not remain numb and unfeeling. Since I have noticed them, I must strive with all my might to change, discarding everything without regret, acting on what I say.

July 16

Today I went to a monastery. The road to the monastery wound tortuously, with little bridges over flowing streams, stone steps and wooden posts half-hidden under lush, verdant trees. As I savored the scenery, I found myself entering the monastery without quite noticing. It was a small monastery. Outside the entrance there was a small white stupa where worshippers burned fragrant offerings, and drifting blue smoke curled from it. Beneath the houses near the stupa sat children and women, waiting for alms from devotees and visitors. I went straight into the main hall. The hall was dark; I could not even make out which Buddha or Bodhisattva was enshrined there. In one corner sat a lama giving head-touching blessings to visitors and worshippers, and receiving their offerings. With palms pressed together, I bowed in worship before the Buddha statue in the center of the hall. While bowing in worship, I entered samadhi and knew that this place, too, was inhabited by Bön deities; it seemed many temples in the Kongpo region were Bön territories. Then the Buddha statue in front of me vanished. A Tibetan-style palace appeared, not large but relatively ordinary. A “venerable elder” with white hair and beard invited me to sit inside for a while, so I followed him in. He wore rather splendid clothes, and from his dress he was neither a monk nor a lama, but the white topknot coiled on his head made him resemble a “Daoist priest.” After he settled, he introduced himself by the name of so-and-so, a deity within the Bön religion. From his introduction it seemed he was one of the most senior gods in the Bön pantheon, holding a position akin to that of the Primordial Heavenly Worthy in Daoism. I said, “Your appearance and attire give the impression of a Han Chinese, and even more like a Daoist.” He smiled and said, “I am indeed Han, and I once cultivated the Dao in the Zhongnan Mountains in the Han heartland.” Just then, a maidservant brought in two cups of butter tea on a small tray. He took one; I lifted the other from the tray. Gazing at me with a kindly smile, he said, “Please have tea, Bodhisattva.” As I looked around the room’s furnishings and took a slight sip of tea, a strange cackle suddenly rang out. In an instant, the palace and the “Daoist” vanished. A voice came from the air: “I have put a deadly poison in that tea.” And at the same time, I saw myself standing in the sky together with several Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, looking down upon the small temple where I had just been bowing. In the center of the main hall, where the Buddha statue had stood, there was now a huge goshawk with red, angrily bulging eyes. It cursed the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas wildly, slandering Buddhism. The Bodhisattvas around me all smiled and said, “Did you think a Bodhisattva would fear poisoning by you?” At that moment the Four Heavenly Kings appeared in the sky. The Wide-Eyed Heavenly King roared, “Wretched beast! Daring to poison a Bodhisattva—you’re just in time to be captured.” As he spoke, he pressed down his crystal stupa toward the black hawk. The stupa enlarged slightly in the air, letting out ten thousand rays of golden light, and the black hawk turned into a wisp of green smoke and was sucked inside. The stupa flew back into the King’s hand, shone golden light for a while, then returned to its original size.

After witnessing that scene, my heart felt somewhat heavy, so I turned and left the main hall. On the way back that afternoon, I stopped at the museum and at a waterfall site. Below the waterfall, on the “Scenic Viewing Platform,” I entered samadhi for a while and saw more mountain peaks appearing above the waterfall, and among those peaks, several palaces were arranged harmoniously. Two lines of heavenly maidens, holding various offerings of fruit, drifted down from both sides of the waterfall and placed many offerings in the air before me. One of them said, “The teacher-ancestress has returned.” Suddenly I saw White-Robed Guanyin appear in the sky; she entered one of those palaces and then came out again, saying to the group of heavenly maidens, “You have worked hard.” It turned out that this place was a traveling palace that Guanyin Bodhisattva once used in Tibet, though she had not visited for a long time. The heavenly maidens were the maidservants guarding the palace.

One other samadhi at the museum is worth mentioning. Standing before a photograph of Namcha Barwa on the third floor, I suddenly entered samadhi and found myself at the foot of the mountain. Beneath the peak I saw an ice layer ten thousand feet deep. No wonder so many climbers fail to scale this mountain, I thought — it is not even as high as the Himalayas, but it is fearsomely cold, and now I understood why: the ice under the peak runs far too deep. At the foot of the mountain a gem-like stone gate appeared. It split down the middle, swinging open like a pair of doors, and a beautiful girl emerged and invited me in, saying, “Our lord requests your presence.” I stepped inside. The world within was entirely different — little bridges over flowing water, green leaves and red blossoms, as though it were the warm third month of spring. I crossed a bridge, passed through a secluded corridor, and entered a great hall. In the center sat a Dharma King, wearing a crown made of something like ice and jade, shaped into three sharp peaks exactly mirroring the three summits of the mountain outside. I remembered the Tibetans saying that this mountain was a pillar of heaven, that on a clear day the peaks looked like three fingers pointing upward; but the Dharma King’s crown was clearly a miniature of those three summits. When I came out of samadhi I could not recall his clothing or his face, only that he said he was the mountain deity of Namcha Barwa. He belonged neither to the Bon tradition nor to Buddhism, but he had deep ties with both the Bon master and Padmasambhava, so he held no prejudice against either Buddhist or Bon practitioners. A serving girl brought a plate of white peaches, hollow at the base. The lord invited me to taste the “snow peaches” of their ice mountain. I tried one: it was soft, sweet, and wonderfully cool in the mouth — a most unusual flavor. When I had finished, the lord made a few polite remarks such as, “I should have come to pay my respects to the Bodhisattva much earlier,” and had an attendant bring two animals on a tray. From a distance they looked like ice sculptures of dolphins; only when I drew close did I see the neck of one “sculpture” moving back and forth, and I realized they were alive. Even then I could not tell what the two half-crouching animals on the tray were. The lord said, “I offer the Bodhisattva a small gift — these are snow otters of our mountain. They are auspicious creatures, exceedingly rare. Even in the hottest climate, so long as one snow otter is near, the region within thirty li will become delightfully cool, and the weather will be favorable.” I looked at the clean white snow otters sitting meekly on the tray; when they stayed still, up close they looked exactly like little animals molded from snowflakes, utterly adorable, and so I accepted the gift and thanked the lord. At the same time I gave the lord a necklace in return. It had been a gift from my master, strung with sariras from over a hundred living Buddhas — more than three hundred sarira beads in all, and almost every bead shone with a different light: golden, rainbow-hued, blue, and so forth. When I took it out to offer it, I felt a small pang of reluctance; was it right to give away something my master had given me? But this thought flashed through my mind only briefly, because I also saw that if this sarira necklace remained in the snow mountains to create affinities, it could benefit countless sentient beings of the snow realm. At that, my heart grew entirely at ease. The lord held the necklace with great excitement and said, “With this necklace bestowed by the Bodhisattva, Namcha Barwa will become even more sacred…” I took the chance to urge the lord to do more for the beings who lived near the mountain, to perform more good deeds, and the lord readily agreed. I then took my leave.

July 17

When we live in this world and someone hurts us, slanders, defames, or frames us, we need not grieve too deeply, nor bear a grudge and seek revenge for every slight. The world abounds with adverse conditions, and all of them come with their own causes and effects. Through such adverse conditions you can see a person’s true face and understand their character; from that you may choose whom to befriend and whom to approach with caution and vigilance. But if we allow these matters to fester and think only of revenge, we are wasting our life and our time. Where there is a cause there is an effect. If the harm someone has done you meets with retribution in this life, sometimes you need not even lift a finger — that person will taste bitter fruit at someone else’s hands. Why not put your energy and time into something more meaningful, purge your heart of anger and sorrow, and let your life become beautiful again?

But when someone has shown you kindness in this life, even though that, too, is born of causes and conditions, you must not use the notion of karma to argue that they owed it to you. You cannot truly fathom cause and effect; when someone gives, although there may be a prior cause, in this lifetime they do not know the events of past lives, and they do not believe their help springs from karma. You must be grateful, therefore, and engrave the debt of gratitude deep in your heart, determined to repay it — that is the conduct of a true person of integrity. Otherwise, if you meet both kindness and enmity with indifference, thinking it is all just your fate, you are no better than a petty person, no better than grass or wood or senseless stone. Even animals know gratitude and repay kindness; how much less can a human being afford to lose this noble quality!

A cultivator must learn at all times to practice giving, in order to lessen one’s own greed.

For instance, I have been traveling to visit teachers these last few years, so I often stay in hotels. For a while, whenever I left a hotel, I would gather up the little combs, toiletries, and such from the bathroom and take everything with me. I thought that since I had paid for the room, these things belonged to me; leaving them behind would be wasteful, not thrifty. But later I noticed that the things I brought home would sit in a drawer unused for a long time. Occasionally a guest who had forgotten a toothbrush might use one of those disposable toothbrushes from the hotel, but the other items — toothpaste, shampoo, body wash — would often expire and go bad before they were ever needed. Only then did I realize that my old way of thinking was flawed. After that, when I left a hotel, I generally stopped taking those things, unless I had a genuine need for what was mine. If I didn’t need them, I wouldn’t claim them. Moreover, I would send a good wish to the hotel: I regarded everything that should have been mine, but which I did not need, as something I had given to the hotel. I hoped that with many people doing the same, the hotel would save a little expense, accumulate funds, improve its other facilities, and so prosper and bring more benefit to every guest who must travel for one reason or another.

Sometimes, when I go shopping at an open-air market, a vendor will name a price based on the customer — for instance, seeing you as someone with money, they might raise the price by a few dimes. Though this is a shameless practice, for a cultivator it can instead train your compassion. Once I bought potatoes from an old farmer. Seeing I was an outsider with a different accent, he raised the price by five dimes per jin. Because I thought his potatoes were good, I bought several jin even though I knew he was cheating me. But as he weighed them, I looked at his hand gripping the scale — the veins bulging, some fingertips and nails worn down halfway. His face was dark and red, plainly scoured by the sun day after day. An immense pity surged up inside me. Every day in our country, countless farmers labor with their faces to the earth and their backs to the sky. While we work in air-conditioned rooms and still worry about getting sick from the air conditioning, they sweat rivers under the sun, their skin peeling layer after layer, bitten by mosquitoes and leeches. From a Buddhist perspective, their poverty comes from cause and effect, from their own greed; but can a cultivator, merely by knowing that this is a manifestation of karma, lose all sympathy and compassion? I stared at the potatoes on the scale, unable to guess how many drops of sweat had fallen on each one, and I suddenly felt that they could not be measured by any price. When I had paid and was walking home, I did not feel at all cheated. I knew full well that next to that farmer I might have found someone selling for less, but I had bought from him anyway, and I had bought with a heart full of compassion. As for whether I encouraged his greed, I set that aside for the moment; I simply considered within myself that I was practicing giving, and that the extra five dimes per jin were my offering to him. Perhaps he thought I did not know the price and was secretly pleased to have made a little more money, but that only made me pity him more. Who gains and who loses — this world is actually the most just.

By examining myself in the small details of daily life and by practicing giving, I found my heart growing larger, my greed and possessiveness steadily diminishing. I began, in every matter, to think of others’ labor and sacrifice, and my gratitude and compassion deepened. I developed a mind of equality toward everything in this world. In giving especially, I no longer clung to any form or any reward.

When it comes to arousing compassion, I often look at things from different angles. Take this example: a greedy millionaire and a cheerful beggar each possess a precious pearl. For the millionaire, the pearl is a trophy to flaunt among his peers, his most cherished treasure, the very root of his existence. For the poor man, the pearl simply solves his practical problems — he no longer has to toil from dawn to dusk for food and clothing. Then one day, both lose their pearl. The beggar becomes as poor as before, and it pains him too, but since he once had nothing, he can still sleep with the earth for his bed and the sky for his blanket; he adapts to poverty more easily. The millionaire, on the other hand, feels he has lost far more. He thinks of the status and the face he must now recover among his circle. Although he will not be left with nothing, he believes he has lost the most precious thing in his life — he has lost his “pet.” If he has power, he will rage about it, wondering who dares stir trouble on his turf and steal from him; he will lose all appetite and toss in sleepless agony. Because the pearl functions differently for the two men, the beggar feels he has merely lost his means of subsistence, while the millionaire may feel he has “lost everything.” The millionaire suffers more than the beggar, because the greed and possessiveness in his heart are heavier. Losing the pearl is like losing his life; he might very well lie down on a couch piled with gold and jade and breathe his last. In terms of fate, the millionaire is more pitiable and more deserving of a cultivator’s sympathy and compassion, for he is far more deeply poisoned by material desire.

So a person’s true wealth does not lie in how much money they possess. For a greedy person, spending one cent feels to their mind the way spending ten cents feels to someone who is generous and openhanded with material things; when they give a cent to another, they feel as though they have lost several hundred cents. Because the inner pain of loss is so great, every cent they spend genuinely costs them many times its worth in blessings. Once this causal pattern is understood, it is clear that they gain little and lose much. The more miserly and greedy, the heavier the loss of blessings. Everything hinges on how you understand “loss” in your heart, not on the sum of money.

For a genuine cultivator on the path of cultivation and certification, since we are not yet perfect and cannot fathom cause and effect, we should not demand perfection in everything we do. We need only ask that with every action, with every arising thought, we reduce our greed, anger, delusion, arrogance, and doubt. As for delivering sentient beings according to conditions, that must wait until our own habitual tendencies and desires gradually fade and our merit and virtue are perfected. It is true that a Bodhisattva resolves to deliver others before delivering oneself, but when we ourselves have not yet gained the capacity, such a resolution is very hard to turn into genuine help that yields real results.

In genuine cultivation, within the scope of our ability, we can always make a resolve to do good and accumulate blessings. Even if we think that realizing Buddhahood or becoming a Bodhisattva is distant and unreachable, if we firmly believe in cause and effect we should at least accumulate the blessings of humans and gods. But if we only do a little charity when fortune suddenly smiles, or burn incense and bow to the Buddha at a temple only when trouble strikes, hugging the Buddha’s feet in desperation; if we offer a little money to monks, and when a beggar comes, toss a few dimes if we have change but drive him away crossly if we don’t; if we do every good deed when we are happy, then when we are vexed, think the whole world has wronged us and owes us a debt, that everyone should compensate us because we have already done enough good — a person who practices like that, I think, cannot even accumulate enough blessings of humans and gods. To the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, offering ten million or one yuan makes no difference; the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas do not need money; the money of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas is meant to be given to sentient beings in need. What matters is your heart: is it pure? Have your five poisons — greed, anger, delusion, arrogance, and doubt — diminished? Is your heart sincere and reverent? Is your heart vast and magnanimous, or is it still selfish, thinking only of yourself? Think about it: in this life, how many thoughts have revolved around our own selfish aims? Compared to all the planning we do for ourselves, how few are the times we forget ourselves and give, sacrifice, and practice generosity — perhaps one out of ten thousand. Since you think so much about this “stinking skin-bag” and cling so deeply to every object in this world, then this stinking skin-bag and this world will surely keep you here. They cling to you just as much! The attraction between you is too strong. And if your five poisons grow heavier, the Six Paths of Rebirth will certainly detain you for a long, long time. You simply will not have the strength to walk out.

A Little Story:

1. The Buddha and Giving

Long ago, three people were bowing to the Buddha at a temple at the same time. The first believer gave ten thousand yuan. The temple monks beamed with joy, recited sutras and dedicated the merit for him, saying his merit was immeasurable. The second believer gave five thousand yuan. The monks rang the bell, lit incense and lamps for him, and said his merit was likewise immeasurable. The third believer was very poor. He had walked a long way to worship the Buddha. When he entered the temple, he had only two yuan left in his pocket. He was also very hungry and thought of giving one yuan and keeping one yuan to buy a bit of food. But he also thought: I worked so hard all the way to come and worship the Buddha; now at last I can see the “Buddha.” Giving one yuan is too little; it cannot express my sincere, yearning heart. So without hesitation, he gave both of his yuan. The temple monks did nothing for him, only saying: “Giving will bring merit.”

A few years later, by a miracle, these three people were reborn at the same time. Because of the merit of their giving, they all saw the Buddha they had made offerings to at the same time. The Buddha stroked the head of the third giver and said: “Your merit is greatest, because you gave all your property.” The Buddha then stroked the head of the second giver and said: “Your merit is next, because you gave one-third of all your property.” Finally, the Buddha stroked the head of the giver who had offered the most and said: “Your merit is the least of the three, because you were only willing to give one-ninth of your property.” That believer was very dissatisfied and said: “Although I gave only one-ninth of my property, my money was the most, and the dedication of merit the temple monks did for me was also the most magnificent.”

The Buddha smiled and said: “In the human world, those worldly monks calculate merit according to the amount; in the world of the Buddha, the method of calculating merit is different. In the eyes of the Buddha, the three thousand worlds are all the Buddha’s wealth. You are playing games with the wealth of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. The Buddha only measures your merit by the degree to which your greed for wealth has diminished.”

Triangular Debt

Long ago, a merchant, by his intelligence and hard work, earned a great deal of money. Three of his friends, one after another, borrowed money from him to do business. This merchant believed in the Buddha-dharma and deeply trusted in cause and effect. As he lay dying, his son said to him: “Father, after you pass away, those three uncles might try to avoid repaying their debts. Why not summon them now? If they repay now, fine; if not, at least have them write a note, so that after you are gone, they will remember to repay me or your grandson.”

His father, hearing this, shook his head and said: “The money I leave you may not let you sit and do nothing your whole life, but it is enough capital to do something and then earn more. As for the money my friends owe, that is my affair. If they earn money, they might repay you or they might not. I believe the Buddha’s teaching that cause and effect never fail. If they don’t repay, then they will always owe me; or perhaps I am simply repaying debts from past lives — in that case I am at peace, with no worries. If I do this now, it would be like forcing them to pay. We are all good friends; for petty gain, to wound a friendship — it’s not worth it. Besides, the money I leave you is enough for your needs now.” At that point, the merchant, thinking of his life in business, sighed and said: “The Buddha says: one who owes debts repays them in the next life as oxen and horses. Now that I am about to leave this world, I hope that my debts in this world are repaid, that I owe no one, and that what others owe me is also settled. Even if I come again in the next life, may I have no debts with anyone.” After making this vow, he passed away peacefully. Because of merit accumulated over many lives, he was reborn in the Land of Ultimate Bliss.

After his death, two of his friends, after earning money, one after another repaid their debts to his son. Only one friend secretly rejoiced, pretending nothing had happened and never mentioning the debt. The son, following his father’s will, refrained from pressing for repayment.

Once, this friend went to a place to do business and unexpectedly was swindled out of a large sum of money, suffering heavy losses. He also believed in Buddhism and felt that he had done many good deeds; how could such a karmic result befall him? He went to have his fortune told. The diviner said: “You have a friend whose blessings are very great. At his deathbed, he made a vow to settle all debts in this world. In a past life, he owed a sum of money to the person who cheated you, but in this life they had no karmic connection to meet. You, however, owe a sum of money to that deceased friend of yours. So his debt was repaid by you — that too is cause and effect! In this way, all three of your debts were settled.” Hearing this, the friend felt as if waking from a dream and no longer suffered. He immediately raised the money and went to his friend’s son to repay the debt and repent. The son, after hearing his story, returned the money and said: “I am not short of money now. If, in the unseen world, you and my father’s debt was settled, that is a good thing. Though such settlement feels unpleasant, cause and effect never miss by a hair. I hope, Uncle, that in the future you will not try to take advantage of others. As the saying goes: an honest person does nothing to be ashamed of, and at midnight fears no ghost knocking at the door.” The friend, ashamed, went away.

A Cultivator in Business

Once there were two merchants. One was a cultivator of the Way; he never cheated or harmed others in business, earning money solely through hard work, wisdom, and blessings. Gradually he accumulated some wealth. Once, an excellent opportunity for profit arose: if he used his ample capital to monopolize the market, he could earn in one stroke what would otherwise take him ten years. In the place where he lived, only he had that kind of strength. But if he did so, at least a dozen small businesses would go bankrupt. After some thought, he firmly gave up the idea of profit. He simply said to his family: leave opportunities for others to earn money; the money we make is enough for the family to live comfortably, why pile up even more wealth? At that same time, in another place there was a merchant who saw this same opportunity. He, without a second thought, monopolized the market in his area, bought up the bankrupt workshops, dismissed the original workers, keeping only a few to serve him. By this he made a fortune, becoming a famous tycoon far and wide.

After earning his wealth, he took two beautiful women as concubines, bought several villas, since with three wives and six children, the house was certainly too small. He did not gamble, visit prostitutes, take drugs, or smoke; his conduct was, one might say, upright. The concubines came because he was too rich and famous; the two women sought him out themselves, clung to him, and refused to let go. He was not a man without feeling, nor could he resist the temptation of beauty — those two concubines were simply too beautiful and charming. He had once been deeply devoted to his wife, but having relations and feelings with the concubines, he could not wrong them either, so he betrayed his wife and married them all. Fortunately, the three wives could live together peacefully, and he felt very happy.

Now, the first merchant, for having let slip such a once-in-a-lifetime chance to make money, was blamed by his wife, who said he was pedantic. “Don’t you know you can do charity after making a large fortune?” she said. “It’s the same good intention either way.” He explained again and again: “The money we two have is already enough. Since doing good before earning money and after earning money are the same, why must you keep brooding over it, never letting go?” But they could not see eye to eye, and his wife finally abandoned him, saying that to pass up such a money-making opportunity was to be the world’s number one fool; living with a person so obtuse, she found, was impossible — she couldn’t communicate, it was too stifling. Thus, with a single thought of goodness, the merchant ended up losing both wife and wealth. He continued doing business according to his principles, cultivating, content with what he had and always joyful. After living alone for a few years, he met a young woman both virtuous and talented, of beautiful appearance. They fell in love at first sight. After they began living together, one day the young woman asked why his former wife had left; he told her truthfully. Hearing this, the young woman embraced him, tears streaming down her face, and said: “Thank goodness he did not monopolize the market back then, or my father’s small business would certainly have gone bankrupt. And I had an eye disease that year; it was precisely because my father earned a good sum that year that he was able to treat my eyes in time. Otherwise I would be blind now.” The young woman wept with gratitude and held her husband in even greater reverence for his character and charisma. They had a son, and the family of three lived peacefully and happily all their lives.

The other merchant, at first, with ample resources and young children, lived peaceful, happy, and sweet years. Many merchants around envied him — he went out and about with three lovely wives taking turns at his side, young and promising, his future boundless. But gradually, the three wives began to quarrel, and the children grew up. The three households started a covert struggle for favor and for his property. The two concubines had come for the property; if they got less, it would run counter to their expectations, and they would never be content. This open strife and hidden rivalry lasted right up to his deathbed. He often did not know which wife to go to; of his three homes, he could return to none. All three wives accused him of favoritism, nagging and quarreling until his heart was in turmoil. He had no choice but to “favor” himself, usually drinking tea alone in tea houses outside and taking solitary walks. At the point of death, he still stared uneasily at his three wives, afraid they would start fighting over dividing the property. And his property had long since nearly been squandered by his unworthy sons.

Let us look at the fates of these two merchants — setting aside the principle of cause and effect, for it is too profound — I only want to know: in one lifetime, exactly how much money is enough? What counts as satisfaction? What does it mean to know contentment and be ever joyful?! Both merchants’ attitudes toward the business opportunity and their choices were not wrong. It was simply that one thought a little more for his fellow businessmen, one more thought of kindness. Everyone, by their different attitude toward life, makes different choices when facing events. Fame and profit are what many pray for, but how much fame and how much profit can fill our desires? When we endlessly grasp in this world, what are we losing at the same time? The purpose of earning money is to live happily, not to satisfy and stimulate desires. If we put the cart before the horse, then after the satisfaction and stimulation of desires come afflictions and suffering, for desire is endless — it is like earning money yet gaining nothing, while at the same time exhausting your own blessings. In truth, very many people, after having fame and money, are not happy, not joyful. That is why they then do charity, why they bow to the Buddha, hoping to find what they have lost. But each person, after battling through life, after gaining everything they wanted — if they are not happy, what have we lost after all? Where exactly are the seed and source of happiness and joy?! Why do we not guard it carefully in the very process of struggling through the mundane world? Sincerity, dedication, compassion, giving, loving care for others, treating others equally with respect, the courage to renounce temptations, the strength to conquer one’s own desires — holding fast to your principles of being human — these are the seeds of your happiness, all preventing you from losing yourself and turning into a walking corpse that has nothing but money and fame.

May everyone become the guardian deity of their own happiness! May fame and profit make those who gain them truly wealthy and truly happy, rather than bringing calamity upon them.

July 18

For days now, my neck has ached, my bronchial tubes and esophagus seem swollen, as if cut by a knife. I sought help from Yamantaka. The Vajra told me to perform a feast offering, to offer to all the spirits, demons, and yakshas near the Tibetan region. Because the energy channels in my neck are transforming, the karmic energy is too heavy. If those spirits and yakshas are all delighted and immediately shed their anger and resentment, it will greatly benefit the purification of the energy channels in my neck.

I asked Venerable Milarepa to construct a mandala for a feast offering. Today, Venerable Milarepa, clad in dharma robes and a helmet and holding his ritual implements—bell and vajra—sat in the sky, majestic and serene. He bade me look down, and I saw that a white mandala had already appeared on the ground, as if enclosed by cloth curtains. Around its perimeter, multicolored banners streamed in the wind—summoning flags. Inside the mandala, offerings of various foods had been laid out. The Venerable One told me that to perform this offering feast, I would need the blessing of Buddhas and Bodhisattvas revered by gods and humans and possessed of boundless spiritual power; otherwise, it would be difficult to succeed. He told me to request the World-Honored One’s blessing. So I respectfully invoked the World-Honored One, who manifested in the sky and suddenly hurled countless vajra pegs around the mandala, burying them in the earth all along its perimeter. Then the image vanished from the sky. The Venerable One began to chant mantras, and the banners around the mandala began to flap with force, snapping and whipping, seeming to issue ghastly howls and wails. Before long, a host of ghosts and demons of grotesque shapes rushed in and began devouring the offerings. But as they entered the mandala and ate, their auras gradually grew pure, and a golden light even began to emanate from within the mandala. Suddenly, the mandala itself started to tremble, and from the sky flew more than ten women in black clothing. The vajra pegs around the mandala began to glow, forming a luminous dome that encased it, leaving only a swirling misty opening at the entrance. The women filed in through it, one after another. All except the leader rushed toward the food; she stood at the entrance, her expression wary as she surveyed the interior and exterior of the mandala. She wore black, a black headscarf revealing only her face, which was extremely pale and possessed a cold, ruthless beauty. Coldly, she kept examining the mandala as if harboring vigilance and suspicion. At that moment, a green snake descended from the top of the mandala, lowering its head right to the level of her mouth. That woman was especially fond of eating green snakes, but now she paid it no attention, her gaze still fixed icily upon the scene. Suddenly, blood began to well from the snake’s own neck—drip, drip, dripping onto her lips. Tasting the snake’s blood, she could no longer resist and swallowed the snake whole in one gulp. Just then, I saw that in the sky, Venerable Milarepa’s left arm had been laid bare to the bone, and blood was dripping from between his fingers. I understood: the Venerable One had transformed his own arm into the snake for her to eat. After devouring the snake, the woman abandoned her caution and began eating the other offerings. In the end, all the ghosts, demons, and yakshas ate their fill and departed. As they left, nearly every one of them spoke a word of blessing or auspicious wish for the one who made the feast offering. One fierce ghost slapped his belly and said it was the best and most satisfying meal he had ever eaten as a fierce ghost. The woman who had eaten the snake turned out to be a chief of the female yakshas. She also praised the deliciousness of the feast and said that by making offerings to her, the one who made the offering had effectively made offerings to all female yakshas. She also uttered a long string of auspicious words before departing. Once all the spirits had left, Venerable Milarepa reached out and pulled up the banners around the mandala. An attendant of the World-Honored One came to retrieve the vajra pegs. Then I saw the mandala suddenly shrink until it was the size of a child’s toy, and the Venerable One moved a snow pile over and buried the mandala beneath it.

I did not know how to express my gratitude to the Venerable One, and I was worried about his left arm. The Venerable One smiled and said, “Don’t worry, I’m perfectly fine, see?” Looking closely, I saw that his left arm had already been restored without a trace of injury, and his whole body had become a luminous form like beryl. After the Venerable One departed, I felt the pain in my throat lessen slightly, and a white column of light arose from my crown chakra into the sky. My body and mind felt exceedingly pure. For an instant, I perceived the food and objects of this world as extremely coarse and inferior, and I felt I was not a person of this world. My body seemed so light that I could follow the column of light and depart this world entirely…

In the afternoon, I read my master’s writings. When I came to the piece “In Thanks to Huang Mei-tong, a Lay Disciple Who Sent Vegetarian Fare from Afar,” I could not help but weep. In that essay, the lay disciple had sent the master dried bean curd and Sichuan pickled vegetables. The master had written a poem in reply: “The cliff-side life of former days is now a dream; The kindness of my patrons in the snowy mountains isn’t easily forgotten. Though I too admire the lifelong vegetarian diet, Old habits linger—I still savor the fragrance of pickled vegetables.” By then he had already been in sealed retreat in northern India for twenty-three years.

Although the master was able to transform all his afflictions, longings, homesickness, humiliations, and slanders completely, or to lose himself in samadhi and wholly forget them, when I read those lines, I still vividly felt the wistful longing for his native land that arose in him at the sight of Sichuan pickled vegetables. His mind had already transcended the Three Realms, free of distinctions of nationality and foreign sentiment, yet those leftover habitual tastes still brought to mind the far-off home, and his days of retreat at Flower-Offering Cliff and in the snowy mountains.

A stranger sojourning in a foreign land knows how hard it is to find a kindred spirit. To attain awakening through direct experience and to carry out the mission of propagating the Dharma is a heavy road of grave trials. Every former eminent monk and sage has left a model and example for realizing the Way and spreading the teaching. I have received the blessings of all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas—the Buddha’s kindness is vast as the sea. I must diligently advance my cultivation and realization in every thought and deed, so as not to fail the kindness of my teachers and all Buddhas. Even if my body were crushed to dust, I would have no fear, and it would still fall short of repaying one ten-thousandth of the grace of my teachers and all the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas.

July 19

After yesterday’s feast offering, my throat no longer hurt this morning, though there was still much phlegm. The throat chakra is the sambhogakaya chakra, governing anger; grudges and bitterness emerge from the karmic energy there. During yesterday’s feast, if those wrathful ghosts and resentful spirits gained joy in their hearts and their anger and bitterness eased, it would greatly benefit the recovery of my throat.

During morning sitting meditation, I suddenly saw two little monkeys clambering onto my bronchial tubes, licking them and my esophagus with their tongues. My energy channels and sinews rose like towering trees, one by one. I did not startle the little monkeys, and they licked a while longer, then seemed to call out to companions. Only then did I notice that I was sitting upright in a forest, surrounded by towering trees, and that I had moments ago melted into the trees, becoming a plant. Countless monkeys bounded and leapt through the branches. Then I saw a person appear beside me, dressed in tatters, with long hair hanging to the waist. He was burly and broad-shouldered, and beneath the disheveled hair was a high forehead and a pair of eyes that looked at once simian and human—eyes that were deep-set and piercing. Seeing me seated in meditation, he froze, then turned and let out a long howl. In an instant, every monkey vanished without a trace. I knew he had taken me for an “enemy” trespassing on forbidden monkey territory. He stared at me hard, and I remained still in meditation. Then suddenly he smiled, revealing a neat set of large front teeth; he had recognized me. He turned again and let out another long howl, and the monkeys reappeared in the branches as if knowing the art of invisibility. He turned and strode into the deep forest, and before long he returned holding a finely wrought Tibetan knife in both hands. By the time he had finished looking me over, I already knew his origins: he was an “ape-man”—the child of a union between a human and a monkey—and had lived ten thousand years. He held out the knife as a gift, a gesture meaning “friendship, submission, and compliance.” I quickly reached out and accepted it, then drew the blade to glance at it; both blade and hilt gave off a dull red light. I sheathed it, smiled and nodded at him, and he smiled back. I pointed at my lungs, at my bronchial tubes, and he understood immediately. With a wave of his hand, he turned and strode back the way he had come. I followed him until we reached a small lake hidden among the trees. The water steamed with white vapor; it was formed by a hot spring, and the lake looked like the Jade Pool of the celestial palace. He motioned for me to enter, so I slowly walked into the water. The lake was not deep; squatting down, the water reached just to my neck, and I soaked there. I saw him suddenly pick up pebbles from the ground and fling them at me, each one striking an acupoint; I felt flashes of light, now bright, now dim, rise within my body. After a while, from somewhere he produced a long whip and struck the surface of the water, each tip-lash grazing my channels and chakras. Under the strike of his whip, my body gradually dissolved into the water… Then suddenly I caught sight of my own physical body seated on the hotel bed. I had returned to the hotel and emerged from samadhi, though I did not know when.

July 21

It had rained for most of the day yesterday. Toward evening, I went for a walk alone, holding up an umbrella. My mood was a little low. Occasionally I would feel that I was deficient in every respect and could hardly fulfill the mission solemnly entrusted to me by my teachers and all the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas.

But then I reflected that propagating the Dharma in the age of Dharma decline is difficult, and the true Dharma is hard to come by. Where would my teachers find someone entirely free of greed, anger, delusion, pride, and doubt—someone without desires and lingering habits—to take up this mission? At the very least, I had genuinely given rise to a heartfelt weariness of the self and was no longer colluding with ingrained habits and desires, and I was already beginning to develop strength of samadhi and the power to transcend myself. If I kept purifying myself, how could wisdom fail to manifest? Then completing the task would not be so very hard.

Still, loving-kindness and compassion had not yet arisen in me fully and perfectly. The emptiness nature of no-self could not be maintained at every moment. The moment I thought of myself or loved ones, selfishness surged, and I no longer wanted to give selflessly. Sometimes I felt that even if I gave, others would not really understand. Sentient beings are too greedy and suspicious; they only want to take. Any disappointment, and they slander and rage. Those who can genuinely feel gratitude are far too few. In all things, even in practice, they only want success, only want to gain and benefit, and are never willing to give even a little.

Perhaps occasionally one would make a sudden resolve to give, but the giving was pitifully little, and mixed with one’s own selfish desires. The moment one felt one had given a little more, one would spend days and nights only hoping for something in return. At times, thinking of this, I would lose heart and wonder: Is there truly anyone willing to cultivate and realize in earnest? They swear mighty vows with their mouths, and in a sudden burst of fervor would even burn a finger as an offering to the Buddha, yet they cannot bear the slightest grievance. Their ingrained habits and desires are like spring chives—cut, but they grow right back. They never truly turn inward to examine themselves and resolutely vow to subdue them. Dragged away by circumstances and emotion, their minds race like a monkey and their will gallops like a horse, powerless to stop.

Looking at myself, who had practiced for over a dozen years under the constant blessings of all the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, I was still dissatisfied with myself. How much blessing and acceptance could I truly offer future disciples? If I offered myself up, what real difference could it make?

Recently, reading my master’s books, I felt he was truly great. He never voiced such laments or aired his gains and losses and grievances. He simply, in gratitude, silently carried out what the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas instructed him to do, leaving judgment of right and wrong to future generations. Had he been even a little more “selfish,” he might have left his retreat long ago. Through more than thirty years of sealed retreat, he still faced harsh demands and critical fingers from his patrons and supporters; he smiled calmly, setting aside personal honor and disgrace. Although at the end of his life he had not attained the Tantric realization of “Buddhahood in this very body,” his life was weightier than Mount Tai. He had completely fulfilled his mission in this life, carefully recording his retreat experience and his insights from actual cultivation and realization. None of this was done for himself—he constantly lamented only the decline of the Dharma. He merely hoped that in this age of Dharma decline, he could contribute his modest strength to propagating right view and right understanding of the Dharma. That is the conduct of a true man of courage!

Reading his works, I am filled with gratitude. With every page, I feel as though I have stepped into his meditation cell, breathing the same air, sharing the same quest, the same heart—practicing and verifying the Dharma together with him. I receive his gentle, unhurried guidance and teachings. To me, he has not passed away. As I am about to walk out of the mountains back into the red dust of the world, my body and mind facing yet another great transformation, my master’s character, his qualities, his path of realization, and his writings all bestow upon my body and mind an immeasurable blessing. This force of blessing and most sacred empowerment is beyond words.

In deepest reverence, I prostrate to my master!

July 22

On Dedication of Merit

Simply put, wholesome thoughts, words, and deeds can accumulate merit, including genuine practice according to the Buddha’s teachings. But if we ourselves have not attained realization, then the merit we dedicate cannot truly benefit sentient beings. Many of our vows are mere empty words. Outwardly, we lack the skillful means to help sentient beings; on another level, our own accumulation of merit and blessings is insufficient even to alter our own adverse conditions and karmic forces—how then can we give to sentient beings?

But from the perspective of Dharma-nature, all sentient beings are one; they share the same dharma-body substance. This makes dedication of merit seem possible. Yet the defilements and ignorance upon each being’s mind-nature give every being a distinct individuality. Only when someone is “No-Self” — when he has opened himself completely to all things, free of any perception of sentient beings, free of any perception of a lifespan — only then can sentient beings partake of everything he dedicates, because having no self, he can be any sentient being, he can be everything in this world. This is why we may sit back and enjoy the “merit and blessings” brought to us by the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. For example: we can go to the Land of Ultimate Bliss and enjoy the world that Amitabha Buddha’s vow-power has manifested, a bliss free of suffering. The Buddhas and Bodhisattvas continuously dedicate their blessings and merit to us in an unbroken stream. If our faith is sufficient, our trust sufficient, our devotion sufficient, we can resonate with them and receive the blessing of their merit-power. But sentient beings are deluded; they habitually mistake suffering for joy and fail to grasp the principle of the mantis stalking the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind. Toward people or events that contradict their desires and habitual tendencies, they give rise to immense aversion and hatred, willingly degrading themselves, having no connection to the dedication of the Buddhas’ and Bodhisattvas’ merit, setting off in exactly the opposite direction — separated from the Buddhas by a hundred thousand miles because of the ignorance in their hearts. Suppose we want to help a drug addict. We make a vow: if he quits, we will give him a large sum of money so he can live a comfortable, abundant life. If we were Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, that money would be akin to the merit the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas have in this world. But this person swears he will quit, and then, once he has the money, he buys even more drugs and sinks deeper. Wouldn’t that money only harm him and push him further into ruin? Therefore, the merit and blessings that Buddhas and Bodhisattvas dedicate must have the opening of our wisdom and the purification of our hearts and minds as their primary aim. When we can achieve these two things, we can enjoy from the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas their inexhaustible dedication of merit and wealth. That said, throughout the entire process of cultivation, we still must make vows and dedicate our merit, because such words, deeds, and aspirations will, to some degree, lessen our selfishness and weaken our ego-clinging. Moreover, the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas will rejoice when they hear them. It is like when you were little and told your mother, “When I grow up I’ll buy you an airplane and take you traveling all over the world” — the sort of thing that makes a mother happy. Even though your mother knows these things are far beyond reach, she still feels very happy, because there is love in those words. And when you say such things, you must surely be sincere and speak from the heart. The Buddhas and Bodhisattvas are just like your mother.

July 23

My body felt a little better today than yesterday. After getting up in the morning and tidying the room, I burned incense and sat in meditation.

During meditation, I felt my breathing nearly stop. The central channel sometimes suddenly flared like a red butter lamp, and sometimes, from the heart chakra up to the throat chakra, it resembled a tube of blazing sunlight as thick as an arm — red, abruptly glowing bright. The brightness itself was not very bright, yet it lit up every vertebra of my spine, making them all transparent.

In the middle of it all, countless dakinis came, along with dakas and others, crowding the sky so densely no gap remained. Afterward, those dakas and dakinis entered my crown and flowed into the left, central, and right channels, transforming into innumerable white luminosity-drops. The white luminosity-drops then transformed into a five-chakra stupa. I saw my entire body turn into a five-chakra stupa, and this lasted a long time. The dakas and dakinis united within my body, and I felt as though I were being born anew, like an infant, and then I became an enormous bubble, breaking forth from a lotus womb.

Later I saw the Three Sages of the West coming from the opposite direction; they entered directly into my heart chakra and vanished.

The Demon King came. The dakinis seemed to have already left my body. The Demon King said, “So you want to realize Buddhahood? I congratulate you.” With that, he raised a hand, and a mass of tiny black insects appeared in midair. I knew it was a swarm teeming with plague bacteria. Before it could spread, I opened my mouth and swallowed that seething black cloud in a single gulp. Instantly, countless dakinis gasped — “Yi!” — and in a flash they poured through my pores into the body’s channel pathways. Then, every one of them tilted their heads upward, waiting for that mass of bacteria to descend from the central channel so they could help me devour it. But what came instead was nectar cascading down through all the channels. The dakinis tasted the nectar and all burst into delighted laughter.

After the Demon King and his host departed, Shakyamuni Buddha arrived with his disciples, and countless heavenly maidens filled the sky in his wake.

I sat in meditation from a little past nine in the morning until past four in the afternoon, with intermittent rest adding up to about an hour, and drank two cups of yak-butter tea.

July 24

During morning meditation, the channel pathways were extremely pure, and my mind was clearer and calmer than ever before. The channels were very bright and very empty, yet there was no light. This luminous emptiness was unlike anything I had ever experienced. I felt that body and mind were about to empty out completely, but without any strange or unusual sensations. My understanding of many questions and viewpoints suddenly became as clear as a cloudless sky after the storm clouds have dispersed — no longer muddled or confused. It felt as if wisdom were being unlocked. The clarity and steadiness of the body had taken a qualitative leap.

During meditation, joy would constantly suffuse my body and mind. After rising from meditation, my mood was very plain: no joy whatsoever, but no sadness either.

Today it suddenly occurred to me that when practicing Chöd, one should combine it with the visualization of compassion, but in the previous sessions I had failed to generate that.

When cultivating and realizing the Buddhadharma and transforming the energy channels, one’s entire body is itself a Dharma Realm. Your entire body is the three channels and five chakras, the seventy-two thousand channels. Your qi must pervade the entire Dharma Realm — that is, qi must flow freely and without obstruction through the three channels, the five chakras, and all seventy-two thousand channels. When qi pervades the Dharma Realm, mind pervades the Dharma Realm. When mind pervades the Dharma Realm, you pervade the Dharma Realm. This is the accomplishment of the Nirmanakaya, the Dharmakaya, and the Sambhogakaya — which is to say, the accomplishment of Buddhahood in this very body. Then there is non-obstruction among all phenomena.

By the time we adults begin cultivating our energy channels, they are already badly decayed and obstructed; qi can no longer penetrate freely. To repair and transform the channels, qi must be vaporized into energy, and energy must give rise to light. The condition for this transformation is samadhi — remaining in the state of samadhi for long stretches of time. Only light can rapidly nourish and restore the channel pathways, and then expel channel-toxins so that the channels become open and unobstructed.

Most damage to the channels is caused by channel-toxins. These channel-toxins come from food and drink, from breathing, from the seven emotions and six desires, from afflictions, from anger and hatred, and so on. Therefore, one must practice Loving-Kindness, Compassion, Joy, and Equanimity, uphold the precepts, and maintain a vegetarian diet. All these will reduce the production of channel-toxins. Moreover, one must keep body upright, speech upright, and mind upright, so that qi does not run wild and the channels do not tangle together. This is conducive to the repair, opening, and transformation of the energy channels.

In the visualizations for transforming the channels, it is best if one can visualize the three channels and five chakras directly. These channels are inherent to our physical body. When a mother is pregnant, these channels form first, and the other organs grow alongside them. If we visualize ourselves as a body of light, a sphere of light, a pillar of light, and so on, that can also work, but it is not as fast as directly visualizing the channels; direct visualization is more attuned to the actual transformation of the channels.

The power of blessing is extremely important. The blessing-power of the Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, and one’s teacher is everywhere. But we ourselves must achieve states of emptiness, samadhi, and self-forgetting before the blessing can pour into our bodies in an unbroken stream — and it has never been interrupted for even a moment. In the end, the blessing-power comes from the entire Dharma Realm: from your own Dharmakaya.

Of course, if a disciple has not yet attained the states of self-forgetting, emptiness, and samadhi, but the teacher’s level is very high, the teacher can still help the disciple open and clear certain channel pathways, pouring his own power of visualization, mind-power, and energy directly into the disciple’s channels. But at the very least, the disciple must be in heart-to-heart resonance with the teacher, hold a deep reverence, or relinquish ego-clinging, offering body, speech, and mind entirely to the teacher, accepting the teacher as his very master. Then blessing and empowerment come easily.

After all the body’s channel pathways have become open, luminous, and empty, one must quickly replenish nutrition — meat, milk, and eggs are all acceptable — in order to build up energy, restore physical strength, and unlock supranormal powers. Before this stage, however, it is definitely better to eat little, to keep a vegetarian diet, and to undertake short-term grain-fasting.

In the Esoteric School, when cultivating the samadhi of inner heat, replenishing energy and eating meat and the like can also be appropriate; it depends on the individual’s constitution.

During this afternoon’s meditation, because my stomach felt uncomfortable, I was half-thinking about whether I should eat something in the evening. But in meditation, I suddenly saw the Venerable Milarepa in the midst of his cultivation. His body was draped in tattered cloth strips that could barely cover him, and on his head he wore a patch of coarse hemp sewn into a triangle — the peak rising to a point, the two extended flaps draping over his shoulders. He sat upright in a broken cave, and every energy channel in his body shone like a column of red light, utterly still and unmoving. He was abiding in the samadhi of inner heat. Outside the cave stretched an endless expanse of ice and snow, with a few withered blades of grass stirring faintly above the snow.

Then I saw the Venerable Milarepa emerge from samadhi, step out of the tiny cave, and stand in the snow, gazing into the distance. I felt that in his eyes there was only snow, and in his heart there was only the longing to attain enlightenment — not a single stray thought, not a trace of desire. By then, his channel pathways were utterly pure, and no food at all was suitable for his channels. Only snow or mountain spring water, and perhaps pure wild fruits from the earth, might have suited his palate better.

As I watched the Venerable Milarepa in this way within samadhi, I suddenly felt my own channels purify as well. Every food I could think of seemed to carry qi too turbid to swallow; even fruit seemed to have the stale odor of rotting wood. And all at once, I felt all wandering thoughts vanish from my mind. The desire for food disappeared, my stomach no longer troubled me, and my body gradually emptied out, dissolving into the Dharma Realm. For a time even the “I” could not be found — let alone a stomach.

Many thanks to the Venerable Milarepa for his blessing and protection!

In Chan samadhi, I also saw two female deities help me turn my stomach and intestines inside out and wash them in a sacred lake. They said that my esophagus was relatively clean, only a little swollen and red. The two female deities also helped me squeeze out a great deal of toxic fluid from both nipples, because two channel pathways run straight to the nipples.

July 25

A Brief Discussion of the Bliss after Seeing the Way

Every person who has directly experienced the state of “seeing the Way,” or who has had extraordinary meditative experiences in the practice of a particular dharma door, will encounter a certain state: upon rising from meditation, the world suddenly becomes colorful in their eyes. In that moment, whether they are in a rock cave, a thatched hut, or a crude meditation cell, everything around them turns dazzling and luminous, filled with spiritual vitality and a sense of intimacy. Even a piece of rotten wood, in their eyes, will cast off its dullness and become a wellspring of joy. But I have heard friends say that people who take narcotics and anesthetics can sometimes also produce such illusory visions briefly. I gave this serious thought and then consulted my teacher. My teacher said: “No matter what dharma door one practices, arriving at this state or condition is always the result of an internal transformation of energy.” During this energy transformation, some people’s physical energy channels transform at the same time. Such a person can then sustain this state over the long term, or enter and exit it at will. For others, the energy transformation is merely temporary and not thorough enough, and no physiological change occurs. For them, this state flashes by in an instant and is very hard to reproduce. In fact, when energy transforms to a certain level, the person’s level of being is elevated in that moment (the light waves on the person’s body differ from those at ordinary times), and their way of seeing and experiencing the world changes as well. Moreover, if a physiological transformation occurs simultaneously and certain channel-knots are opened, that person’s state of mind becomes fully capable of turning the environment and influencing the surrounding material world. Although that influence is subtle, the environment can truly shift in response to their state of mind — the surrounding field, the vibration of light waves, and so forth. Yet all of this still originates from the power of their mind. Similarly, for “seeing the Way,” because the degree of energy transformation differs from person to person, in that instant the “completeness” of seeing the Way varies enormously among those who see it. Hence, the depth of each person’s realization of “the Way” — that is, the true reality of the universe — is different. For example: if we compare the Way to a peanut, then some who see the Way see only the peanut’s shell; others see not only the shell but also the red skin wrapped around the kernel; the most complete seer of the Way sees the shell, the red skin, and the white kernel inside. Because their vision is complete, when the time comes to realize it, they can directly discard the shell and the inner skin and take only the kernel and eat it. This is how the completeness of seeing the Way leads to the completeness of wisdom. After seeing the Way, they will contemplate the different functions of the shell, the inner skin, and the kernel — that is, the hearing, reflection, and cultivation that follow seeing the Way. Only in this way does seeing the Way become meaningful; only then can the true completeness of seeing the Way manifest its skillful means and function in this world.

As for the illusory states produced by narcotics and marijuana, those are created by external forces and are extremely harmful to the human body, especially the nervous system. They absolutely do not represent any elevation of one’s level of being. In this world, there are many similar states, but because their causes differ, they produce entirely different results.

July 26

On Studying the Teachings with a Living Mind

When studying the teachings and doctrines, many people — if they lack genuine realization — become trapped in the views of others and thus “die” within the teachings and doctrines. They do not realize that every enlightened teacher’s instruction is skillful means, a prescription tailored to the illness. If you do not have that particular illness and then conclude that the teacher’s “medicine” is mistaken, without understanding that this particular medicine was simply not meant for you, then you will surely die on that medicine — die in your own discrimination and clinging.

Therefore, the purpose of studying the teachings and doctrines is ultimately to enable yourself to come alive from within those “words,” from within the enlightened teacher’s instructions. The enlightened teacher’s instructions are skillful; they may have been given for the capacities of the majority. You must also understand them skillfully and apply them skillfully. If you feel no resonance, you are perfectly free to rise and walk away — just as when the Buddha was alive and the five hundred arhats, dreading to hear the Lotus Sutra, shook out their sleeves and departed. If you feel no resonance, do not waste your cultivation time in protracted argument. Go and seek a teacher and a dharma door that do resonate with you. For however excellent a dharma may be, if it does not resonate with you, you cannot ultimately benefit from it.

July 27

Reflections on Watching Fellow Practitioners Recite the Buddha’s Name

When people today recite the Buddha’s name — “Namo Amitabha…” — after three recitations they wonder, “What’s for dinner tonight?” Namo A… “I must take care of something tomorrow.” That is one faction lost in idle thoughts. Then there are those who recite with their mouths, eyes closed, the mind half-dulled, unaware of what they are reciting or who Amitabha is, just chewing the Buddha’s words over and over. Some have grown slick in their practice; the name they recite sounds oily and flippant, almost as if they were teasing Amitabha, and hearing it tightens the chest. Still others recite as if singing a pop song — their voices smooth, their tone beautiful — but you can hear no longing for the Bodhisattvas’ blessing or deliverance, no thirst for rebirth in the Pure Land; their minds have long since wandered off to a faraway land.

All these people profess to practice the Pure Land path, but such recitation is utterly meaningless. Amitabha Buddha’s deliverance and Guanyin Bodhisattva’s hearing cries and rescuing both listen to the voice of your heart — not the vibration of your vocal cords. If body, speech, and mind are united in recitation, then even the softest voice sounds like thunder in the ears of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. Ask yourself: when your breath stops, what is it that recites the Buddha’s name? It is the voice of your heart. It is by this heart-voice that the Buddhas seek you out and guide you; it is the light of your own mind that corresponds with the Buddha-light. For those who keep their thoughts pure and unite body, speech, and mind in daily life, the light of the mind can flash forth or shine continuously.

When we recite the Buddha’s name, we should be like a child remembering his father — like a lost child who, frantic with urgency, searches for his father. Nothing around him — no beautiful scenery, no toys — can distract him; he only weeps, calls out, and thinks of his father with single-minded devotion.

Though this is an imperfect comparison, we truly need this sense of urgency and yearning when reciting the Buddha’s name. The yearning should be like that of a man suffering from unrequited love, aching to see the woman who haunts his dreams: his mouth recites, his mind dwells, day and night, and all six senses — eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, mind — are filled with Amitabha. Every recitation arises from the heart. Only such recitation can firmly plant Amitabha’s image within us and build a certain depth of practice. Then, whether aloud or in the mind, the moment the name “Amitabha” is raised, we forget every distraction and connect solely with Amitabha. In that way, at the time of rebirth, no matter how agonizing the dissolution of the four elements, how terrifying the illusory visions, how scattered the mind, once someone prompts us with this name or we ourselves recall it, the accumulated power of our daily recitation will instantly clear our mind and make our mental strength firm. Our state of mind will no longer be confused or lost. The light of our mind will merge with the Buddha-light of Amitabha, of Guanyin—who hears cries and delivers—and of other enlightened beings, and we will be received by the “Loving Father.”

But if, when you usually recite, your lips move without your heart, your mind is scattered and distracted, and you have not firmly planted the seed of the name Amitabha within you — or if you still harbor doubts about rebirth in the Western Pure Land and lack urgency and intense yearning — then when the four elements dissolve and suffering and terror overwhelm you, your mind will already be lost, the light of your mind will not appear, and body and mind will sink into darkness. At that moment, even if Amitabha stood right beside you, you would neither recognize nor know him. The Buddha’s name would be mere nonsense to you; you would be utterly unable to call to mind, and have no faith to call to mind, these “unrelated” words. You would only hide, flee, cry out, and struggle amid the delusive visions, never able to merge with the Buddha-light of the Land of Ultimate Bliss and of Amitabha, and so you could never be saved.

Furthermore, within Pure Land teachings there is the expression “rebirth carrying one’s karma.” This gives many who constantly accumulate misdeeds a gambler’s confidence: they believe they can reach the Land of Ultimate Bliss simply by reciting the Buddha’s name without having to extinguish their negative karma. They fail to realize that in this world cause and effect are never off by a hairsbreadth. The workings of good and evil karma are not something our fleshly eyes can gauge by worldly sentiment. Some people’s evil actions are merely settling old debts — others owed them and have come to repay. Some people’s evil actions are creating fresh karma. Those burdened with heavy karma, at the moment of rebirth in the West, will encounter countless obstacles and adverse conditions that prevent the light of their mind from arising as the four elements dissolve, and they will be unable to receive deliverance.

Conversely, a person with very light karma may not possess profound Buddha-recitation skill, but because he has many virtuous affinities, a heavy store of good karma, a pure body and mind, and very few mental defilements, a single-minded recitation on his part will allow the light of his mind to easily connect with the Buddha-light, and he will be reborn in an instant. Moreover, when that faint light of his mind connects with the Buddha-light of Amitabha or of Guanyin or Great Strength Bodhisattva, it is like a solitary lamp suddenly merging into an ocean of light. His mental defilements are instantly purified, and the very level of his life is blessed and elevated in that moment.

July 28

In the afternoon I began reading my master’s book, but after a short while I suddenly grew extremely agitated. I put the book down and immediately sat in meditation. During my sitting I saw behind the western mountain a snake-demon and a mountain spirit engaged in dual union. The snake-demon had patterned markings on her face, but her body was that of a young girl. The mountain spirit’s back was toward me; the muscles on his back stood out like slabs of rock.

Suddenly I felt myself turn into empty space, and the mountain spirit and snake-demon seemed to perform their dual union within my body. I saw the snake-demon’s genitals appear vivid red, like a long-stemmed red flower. Then I observed in my central channel transparent crystal-like ripples surging upward from the perineum cakra from time to time, while a cool sensation spread at the neck and throat. At the throat chakra an energy channel seemed to unfurl, revealing a round blue lake, and from the throat water cascaded down like a waterfall along the Ren meridian. My uterus seemed to contract. Dimly, I saw the Esoteric Buddha-mother Asongma; she kept laughing heartily and was helping me adjust the energy channels of the womb. Because she had only one breast, I felt a little curious. She said, “It is one — how can you see it as two?” In that subtle, indistinct state, I seemed to have a sudden realization; instead I felt that having one breast was perfectly normal. Nothing is absolutely right or proper. Then I felt myself turn into a lock of hair, a tooth, a single breast. She merged with me, and I saw myself become a transparent outer shell. Asongma sat at my heart chakra, her hands formed a mudra as she recited a mantra. After a while she disappeared.

In both breasts, channels that seemed spiral-shaped unfurled and became straight lines. When the energy channels in the throat opened freely, my face and nose felt prickly and itchy.

After coming out of meditation I felt hungry, so I went out for a walk and to buy something to eat. I recalled that my master had recently told me to eat a little meat to help the transformation of the energy channels, so I thought I would get some chicken. But on the way to find a restaurant, I suddenly became very agitated, and in an instant my heart felt like ashes. I felt that everything in this world was drifting farther and farther away, as if I were about to leave this life. I entered a restaurant and as I sat waiting for the food I kept feeling nauseous, on the verge of vomiting. Because I had ordered chicken, I could only sit on the stool with my eyes closed and try to adjust my body and mind. But my body broke out in a cold sweat and seemed to contract inward; in a daze, I felt as though I were growing smaller and smaller. My throat, however, felt very comfortable and emitted light, opening in all directions, and I felt many energy knots loosening. Then, before my eyes, countless chickens bound and awaiting slaughter suddenly appeared. I unceasingly delivered them — I delivered perhaps over a hundred — and then the image of the chickens vanished. The nausea continued intermittently as the light from the throat came and went. I ate half a bowl of knife-cut noodles and a few pieces of chicken.

July 30

How terrifying jealousy and angry hatred are — like two venomous snakes. They always bite others, but in the end the deepest wounds are inflicted on oneself. Because these snakes constantly flick their tongues at the innocent, the retribution they incur is also severe. Time and again I have seen beautiful women, because they nurtured these two snakes in their hearts, turn instantly sinister and ugly.

Why cannot jealousy be transformed into rejoicing in others’ merit, and momentary angry hatred be replaced with tolerance and compassion? What noble qualities those are! How many beautiful flowers would then bloom in human relationships.

I hope that in this life, whether or not I achieve enlightenment in this very body, I can at least be a woman of integrity, kindness, and refinement — and not merely a show.

During the morning sitting, my neck was very cool, and I observed that the energy channels at the Jade Pillow and Great Vertebra points opened and extended toward the nose, under the tongue, and other areas. In the morning the master was by my side guiding my cultivation and realization.

Starting tomorrow, I plan to perform feast offerings. I will do them for six consecutive days, primarily making offerings to the heavenly Dharma protectors.

Sometimes I feel that the compassion and the urgent wish to deliver sentient beings I carry are all in vain, for I possess no real power to do anything substantial for them or for the propagation of the Dharma. Even the smallest task is difficult. Sentient beings do not understand, and I cannot completely disregard their foolish suspicions. Sometimes, hearing their incomprehension or sensing their dissatisfaction makes me feel irritable. Occasionally, when many people oppose me, I consider backing down; even when I know I am right, I am unwilling to persist, unwilling to bear groundless blame, unable to forsake my small self for the sake of the Dharma because I care about my own dignity and face. This is something I urgently need to correct. Otherwise, how can I fulfill the tasks entrusted to me by my revered masters? How can I repay the kindness of the Buddhas and my masters? No matter what others think, as long as something is beneficial to the Dharma, I must persist to the end and never give up because of anyone’s obstruction or misunderstanding. “At a great height, the cold is unbearable.” In the past, I always vainly hoped that someone would truly understand me. Sometimes I felt I stood alone on a summit, with only my masters to talk to. But I know that in this world, there will probably never be someone who can truly share my mind and heart. This is also because I have been unable to let go of my ego, still clinging to myself. Why seek anyone’s understanding? From ancient times until now, a true kindred spirit is hard to find. If even ordinary people are like this, how much more so for a genuine cultivator, who must transcend emotion and desire and realize the non‑duality of emptiness and bliss. Let go of yourself! Stop clinging so desperately to yourself. From now on, the “self” is dead. Let others slander and curse, respect and forget, betray kindness and break faith, misunderstand and suspect — let them be. Only remember the smallest kindness others have shown, and repay it a thousandfold; otherwise one is no different from an animal. Do not expect anyone to understand you; only hope that they may understand more of the ultimate truth of the Dharma!

July 31

At noon today I performed the feast offering. I saw a Bodhisattva establish a mandala in the sky above the Himalayas, and I saw the precious umbrella of Heavenly King Virupaksha multiply into countless umbrellas, unfurling among the clouds. Since the invitation was primarily for the heavenly Dharma protectors, the Four Heavenly Kings acted as hosts. In my samadhi I saw many dragons; among them, two golden dragons surged through the clouds under the sunlight, their bodies studded with dots of golden light — a magnificent sight. Over three thousand Dharma protectors arrived in succession. I also saw the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas, many dakinis, and even some immortals of the Daoist tradition, who passed by on their cloud-wandering and joined the Bodhisattva’s feast offering.

In the afternoon I read my master’s poetry collection. I could not help but weep, my heart aching deeply. Reading about my master’s cultivation journey, I felt utterly ashamed — how could I even call myself a cultivator! I regret bitterly that I was not born in the same era as my master. Even if I had only been able to ease a small worry for him or offer a single meal, my heart would have been contented. But our missions are different, and our causes and conditions are not the same. Since I could not attend to him during his lifetime, and now after his passing I am fortunate to personally receive his teachings, I must practice with utmost vigor and never betray his kindness.

Vows for the Feast Offering:

Now the practitioner Wu Aizhen, on behalf of sentient beings of the Three Realms, performs this feast offering together, making offerings to all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas of the ten directions and the three periods of time, to the Vajra beings, to the heavenly Dharma protectors, to all mountain deities, sea deities, lake deities, dakinis, yakshas, dakas, and all traveling celestial beings. May the offered food, through the blessings of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, be transformed into inexhaustible nectar, widely offered to all who have gathered, so that all may be filled with joy.

May all sentient beings of the Three Realms, through the blessings and protection of this great assembly, have the good fortune to hear the Buddha-dharma early, be separated from adverse conditions, be free from illness, sorrow, and affliction, have their karma purified until pure karma manifests, and swiftly attain Buddhahood.

May the Buddha-dharma, under the protection of this assembly, be smoothly propagated, to benefit all sentient beings in every realm.

May all those who have gathered here soon perfect their merit and virtue.

In the endless cycle of birth and death, because of the impurity of our body, speech, and mind, because of ignorance and deluded thinking, because of the blazing intensity of the five poisons, we have committed all manner of karmic offenses, so that in this life we suffer illness, affliction, and the ripening of adverse conditions — all kinds of unwholesome retributions. We now sincerely repent. May all Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, Vajra beings, Dharma protectors, and all gods with whom we have affinities not abandon us, but grant us the blessing of the hand upon the crown. May through this blessing our body, speech, and mind be purified, may we leave deluded thinking far behind, and may we swiftly be liberated from the five poisons. Together with this assembly, may we contribute whatever small strength we have for the endurance and propagation of the true Dharma.

With utmost sincerity we prostrate to all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, to all yidams and gurus, to all yogis, to the heavenly Dharma protectors, and to all the deities.

August 1

Today I performed the feast offering, again with the Four Heavenly Kings presiding. Heavenly King Virupaksha’s umbrella, opened among the clouds, became vast and boundless, serving as the mandala. Around the mandala, a circle of vajra pegs was planted in the earth. At the center of the mandala, a landscape continuously changed — sometimes like a rockery with cascading waterfalls, sometimes transforming into lions, tigers, and other beasts, sometimes revealing scenes of sentient beings from various realms… The devas, Dharma protectors, mountain deities, sea dragons, yakshas, dakinis, dakas, and other beings who came to partake of the feast offering numbered over four thousand.

August 2

At noon I performed the feast offering. Today the mandala was presided over by Four-armed Mahakala, the Protector. The mandala was enclosed by a “curtain” of fabric. At the center on top, a banner with multiple panels — of various colors — was rotating, and all around the mandala, vajra pegs had been driven into the ground.

Most of those who came to today’s feast offering were spirits, rakshasas, and heavenly Dharma protectors of the Tibetan region; there were few dakinis. These spirits and rakshasas were very respectful toward Mahakala, the Lord Protector, and most brought gifts. After entering the mandala, they were extremely careful and well-mannered, without loud clamor. Suddenly, the Bon patriarch strode in with several thousand Bon followers, and the transformation body of Guanyin Bodhisattva immediately stepped forward to receive him, bowing as a consort according to Bon rites. The Bon master was very pleased and, hand in hand with the Bodhisattva’s transformation body, walked side by side into the mandala. The other spirits, rakshasas, and such, upon seeing the Bon master, all rose to their feet; some bowed in greeting, while others looked slightly startled. The atmosphere within the mandala grew somewhat tense and solemn. The Bon master said, “For thousands of years, Buddhism and Bon have been entangled in enmity and strife. I hope that today, through Mahakala’s Dharma gathering, we can wipe the slate clean of all past grudges, and that from now on Buddhists and Bon followers may live in peace…” As the master spoke these words, I saw some Bon deities stirred to tears.

The Bon master then praised the Bodhisattva’s transformation body, saying, “I like you very much. In my tens of thousands of years of cultivation, although Bon has its worship of procreation, I have never used an actual consort, because I could never find one compatible with me. You are the first consort I have found in all these tens of thousands of years.” So saying, he manifested countless lotus blossoms in the sky, then countless vajras; lotuses and vajras rained down, and the Bon followers cheered in congratulations.

From the several wooden tubs on the ground, Guanyin Bodhisattva used supranormal powers to cause several eight-treasure lotuses to grow. In an instant, the lotuses grew large, rose into the air, and transformed into countless lotus seats that floated over, one beside each Bon follower. Some Bon followers immediately ascended, while others looked on coldly, still harboring doubt. Seeing this, the master at once ordered all Bon followers to sit on the lotus seats. Those disciples who had not yet ascended obeyed and mounted the seats. All the lotuses suddenly emitted dazzling light, enveloping every Bon follower on a lotus seat. To reassure his disciples, the Bon master instantly rose into the air and entered union with the Bodhisattva’s transformation body. During the union, I saw that the Bon master and I once again became a sphere of light, but in the center of the sphere there was still a film-like veil. The master, however, said, “You are much emptier than last time.”

After the union, the master sat upon the eight-treasure lotus throne prepared for him. This lotus throne was different from those of his disciples: it was much larger, built in three tiers, and radiated golden light—dazzling and magnificent.

During the feast offering, the Bodhisattva’s transformation body took leave of the Bon master, saying that she would leave Nyingchi and return to Han regions. The master spoke words of blessing and said he would send people to escort and protect her, so that the Bodhisattva’s journey through Tibet would be entirely smooth…

After emerging from samadhi, I shared the scenes of the feast offering with the friends who had performed it with me. Inwardly I was delighted, and everyone rejoiced in the merit. But soon the conversation turned to the taste of today’s dishes. Because they could not see these things, they merely believed my words—listening to me tell a story, with an attitude of “better to believe it than not,” and so day after day they followed my arrangements for the feast offerings. Looking at their bewildered eyes and indifferent expressions, I could not help but sigh softly. This is like how animals do not care about human wars and peace. The pig you raise will never care whether you are quarreling with your neighbor. Different levels of life care about different things. Yet human peace and stability do benefit animals. By the same token, the peaceful coexistence of the gods also brings immense benefit to humankind. It is just that animals cannot understand this, and people cannot either. Each person spends life after life in illusory pursuits, in eating, drinking, and merrymaking, in the satisfaction of desires. Gazing at the desire- and attachment-filled eyes of each person, at hearts obscured by filth, I could only offer my deep blessings to the Three Realms and pray for the happiness of humankind.

During today’s feast offering, a vast number of chickens, ducks, fish, and other animals were liberated. In the center of the mandala was a pool, from which a pillar of water shot up over ten feet. The crest of the water pillar was shaped like a lotus supporting a mani jewel; blue smoke wreathed the jewel—it was a precious vessel of the Land of Ultimate Bliss. Countless animals to be liberated were drawn into the spinning mani jewel and disappeared. I heard the Bodhisattva say that they had been delivered to the Land of Ultimate Bliss. Inwardly I silently marveled at how inconceivable the merit and power of Guanyin Bodhisattva are.

August 3

During the morning sitting, golden light suddenly radiated in every direction from ahead, a radiance that nearly enveloped the entire western mountain range and sky. The golden light drew closer and closer; when it reached the air before me, it interwove with a blazing white light so intense that my heavenly eye could not look directly at it. Then the golden light suddenly contracted, and I saw that it was the great golden-winged garuda from atop Shakyamuni Buddha’s crown, carrying a lapis lazuli stupa. The white light was emanating from the lapis lazuli stupa. When the garuda folded its wings, the golden light vanished. It set the stupa before me and said, “The Dharma King (Shakyamuni Buddha) sent this for you to use in the noon feast offering.” With that, it soared into the sky and departed. I thought, “A great Bodhisattva must surely be coming to the feast offering at noon today; otherwise, why would Shakyamuni Buddha send a lapis lazuli stupa?” After emerging from samadhi, I went to a hotel to perform the feast offering.

It turned out that today’s feast offering was truly extraordinary: Guanyin Bodhisattva and Maitreya Bodhisattva were the main hosts, and the lords of the various heavens and nearly all the great Bodhisattvas came. The gathering was held in the Trayastrimsha Heaven, with the Buddha’s lapis lazuli stupa enshrined at the center. I could see many great Bodhisattvas manifest their forms, but I could not hear their exchanges. The Bodhisattva told me that this great assembly of Buddhas and Bodhisattvas was principally to celebrate the turning of swords to plowshares between Bon and Buddhism—an event worthy of celebration in the history of Buddhism. The two had been at enmity in the Western Regions for years, with deep-rooted, long-standing rancor that posed a formidable obstacle to the future propagation of the Dharma, and Bon was a force of considerable power among the Non-Buddhist paths. This time, causes and conditions had ripened so that they could coexist in peace; therefore, all the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas had come to offer congratulations.

August 4

In the early morning sitting, a consort of the Tibetan king Trisong Detsen came to pay her respects. A servant wearing a clean and splendid robe blending Tibetan and Mongolian styles first brought forward a golden basin holding an amber necklace; the front piece was a large, white amber faintly tinged with pink, very rare. She also brought many terma texts that had been unearthed in Tibet. The consort told me that she now dwells in the Trayastrimsha Heaven and only learned yesterday that the Bodhisattva was conducting feast offerings here, so she came especially to pay homage. She had originally followed Bon but later converted to Buddhism.

At the noon feast offering, Songtsen Gampo was the principal host, with seventeen Tibetan kings in attendance, celebrating that the grudges between Bon and Buddhism could be dissolved and that they could coexist in peace. The mandala was set lower, and the lapis lazuli stupa of Shakyamuni Buddha was enshrined.

During the afternoon sitting, Shakyamuni Buddha notified me to return to Lhasa on the 12th and gave me a gift, something like a lapis lazuli dual-image statue. I felt somewhat puzzled, but Shakyamuni Buddha only said that I would understand its meaning later.

August 5

At noon’s feast offering, the guru presided over the main mandala. Most of those who came were living Buddhas and the gurus of gurus; all the living Buddhas performed a Dharma rite together. The only thing I remember is that at the end, the gurus all transformed into spheres of light, layer upon layer nested within one another. Many characters appeared in the sky, and I did not remember their meaning, but they seemed to express wishes for the flourishing of the Dharma and its long abiding in the world. When the rite first began, I felt a solemn and stirring mood envelop the mandala; the sky was a little overcast, as though it might rain. But soon the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas appeared in the sky, and in an instant the sky cleared, and under the blessings of the gurus, that heavy, solemn atmosphere immediately lightened…

The guru was very satisfied with the feast offering and told me it was perfectly accomplished. The images I offered were a dual-image Buddha and a mandala, along with long horns, bell, vajra, butter lamps, lotus lamps, fruit, and so on. When the lotus lamp was lit, it produced music, and the guru said the auspicious connections were most excellent.

August 6

Around midnight last night, the bell on the offering table suddenly rang twice of its own accord. At the time, I was sitting in meditation. Shortly after, Kalachakra came to confer empowerment. He seemed to wear a five-Buddha crown with a black snake coiled around his neck. I cannot clearly remember the details of the empowerment ceremony; my guru accompanied me at my side. When the empowerment was complete, countless dakinis and heroes appeared in the sky to offer congratulations.

In the morning sitting, the guru instructed me to hold the bell in my left hand and the vajra in my right. Three times in succession he surrounded me with a multi-sided enclosure of sandalwood, with me seated in the center. Above me hung a mandala painted with the sun, moon, and stars, and many prayer flags stretched around the mandala’s periphery. As the sandalwood was stacked, water was first poured from a skull cup at the four points around me, while mantras were chanted and much water was sprinkled. The water fell in concentric circles. There seemed to be pine resin on the sandalwood, so it burned very quickly. Each time the sandalwood was about to burn down to red embers, I would dissolve into emptiness, leaving only a single straight central channel that ran through heaven and earth. Later, the guru also guided me in the esoteric hand seals used in meditation, in order to guide the flow of energy through the channels. Then Kalachakra came and asked the guru whether my throat chakra had opened. The guru replied, “It has not yet fully opened, but the apertures of the heart channels have all opened.” Kalachakra then removed the snake from his neck and coiled it around mine. After that, he sat in full lotus in the air before me, his hands emitting light that shone onto my neck. Then he and the guru each spat a wad of phlegm at my throat… Afterward they left together, and I emerged from samadhi.

At the noon feast offering, because it was the final day, the levels of attendees varied and they were far too numerous, three mandalas were set up. The one on the left, slightly lower, was presided over by the Six-Armed Mahakala, the Lord Protector, and hosted spirits, mountain gods, lake gods, and the like. The mandala on the right was presided over by White-Robed Guanyin and mainly received the eminent monks and great masters, Chan masters, and Bodhisattvas of the Han regions. The central and highest mandala was presided over by Vairocana Tathagata and attended by various vajra gurus, living Buddhas, and Bodhisattvas.

When Vairocana appeared, he wore a golden pointed hat and was adorned with a multitude of jewels, extraordinarily magnificent and opulent. He brought four attendants, also wearing yellow hats and yellow robes and hung with jewels. The four each took up one of the four Dharma instruments laid out on the offering table: a horn, a drum, a skull cup, and a bell and vajra. One blew the horn, one beat the drum, one held the bell and vajra, and one held the skull cup filled with nectar. He sprinkled the nectar around the mandala and into the air, and the sprinkled water instantly transformed into light.

As the feast offering began, an eccentric figure named Babibo arrived. He was a disciple of Vairocana, eccentric in his behavior, never appearing in public. It was only because Vairocana was hosting the feast offering today that I had the good fortune to glimpse this eccentric figure. On his head he wore a hat made from an animal’s skull, resembling both an ox head and a sheep’s head. He was clad in a worn and tattered cotton-padded jacket and a rope tied at the waist. The garment was so threadbare that you could not tell what kind of hide it had been made from. Most of the vajra holders and living Buddhas in the mandala had only heard his name but never seen him appear; they all came forward to greet him. But he seemed exceedingly proud, and responded to the gurus’ greetings with only a slight nod. Entering the mandala, he merely prostrated once to Vairocana, who was seated in the host’s place, then sat to one side without a word. Vairocana asked him to say a few words of blessing for the long abiding of the Dharma. Only then did he break his silence and utter some prophetic statements…

When he had finished, he took from his bosom a grimy white conch shell and gave it to me, saying only that if I ever met with any difficulty, I could blow the conch and he would do all in his power to aid me. I accepted the conch and bowed in thanks. With the words “I take my leave,” he vanished—before the sound had even faded, he was gone.

After a while, when the assembly began to eat, a long bamboo tube suddenly plummeted from the sky and landed precisely in the center of the table. The bamboo tube opened by itself, revealing fragrant bamboo-tube rice within. A voice from the air said, “An offering to all those gathered here.” It was Babibo’s voice.

August 9

The seven-day feast offering had been successfully completed. Feeling somewhat tired at heart, I relaxed and rested for two days.

During a morning sitting, I visualized the hundreds of channels in my limbs radiating outward from the central channel, extending into the cosmos like countless antennae. I inhaled from the crown down to the perineum, and exhaled, allowing the energy in the central channel to flow from the chakras through the hundreds of channels of the limbs, all the way out into the universe. After doing this several times, what I drew in through the crown became a powerful white light, and all the channels of my limbs became suffused with the same white radiance. The light grew stronger and stronger. I felt that while inhaling, light no longer entered only through the crown, but also through the countless channels; it also exited through the hundreds of channels. Presently the light felt fuller and fuller, and breathing in and out was like wind blowing outside the body—the light within the channels had solidified and become motionless. Suddenly, all the bones, muscles, organs, and such flew out from the channels; the channels themselves became entirely hollow tubes, and then the whole body disappeared into the Dharma Realm. After a time, I gradually felt myself “return,” and the entire body reappeared. But now the body had grown larger and transparent, each cell glowing like a lamp. This state lasted about two hours before I emerged from samadhi.

August 11

I rose early, cleaned the room, offered incense, and lit a butter lamp. Today I was to formally remove the offering table. So as I offered incense, I made offerings to the Buddhas of the ten directions and three periods of time and to the heavenly Dharma protectors, and then I stated the reason for taking down the table. In truth, the Buddhas dwell in the mind—what is there to speak of setting up or removing an offering table or mandala? But since principle and phenomena are non-obstructed, why not accord with proper form and decorum? As long as even one sentient being clings, for that being principle and phenomena are not unified, cannot be perfectly reconciled. If you want him to develop right faith in the Buddha-dharma and embrace him, you must first go along with him—let him see and hear the reasons and results of your handling of matters, so that with his limited power of judgment and limited view he can accept you. On that foundation, you then teach him, gradually helping him cease clinging to appearances, slowly merging into the non-obstruction of principle and phenomena, the non-obstruction of phenomena and phenomena, so that whether acting or not acting, nothing weighs on his mind, his heart becomes open and vast, and step by step he realizes emptiness-nature. Therefore, in the early stage of spreading the Dharma and delivering beings, as long as the larger picture is not affected, in all matters one must first attend to what is reasonable in human relationships. For sentient beings, whether you do or do not do something makes a world of difference. To embrace sentient beings, you must first go along with their habitual tendencies and desires; only when they have right knowledge and right views can you “sail against the wind,” and only then can they gradually accept your guidance.

I had just settled into meditation today when I felt an extraordinary purity of body and mind. Looking inward at the channels, they seemed as though freshly cleansed; an airy, luminous light shimmered forth, and my body and mind felt remarkably clear, as if for me, as a person, all the debts to be repaid, the retributions to be suffered, and the karmic ties to be settled had come to an end. All the channels were empty. Slowly my body became like a paper scroll wound around countless times; layer by layer it began to unroll and spin open and vanish, until at last only a tiny crystal-like point of light remained.

All at once I gained a clearer realization about this journey to Tibet, and a more definite understanding about returning to Lhasa the next day and later going to Chamdo, Dergé, and other places. Everything was about settling karmic ties and fulfilling practice vows. Because my karmic offenses were daily purifying and my blessings daily increasing, the itinerary and journey arranged by the teachers entailed fewer and fewer hardships and obstacles—though of course they also took into account my physical transformation, bodily health, and such factors.

In that state of utter purity, following the flow I watched the course of development of several Way-places. The arising, unfolding, and even passing away of every thing and event appeared before my eyes as vividly as a film. I observed the Three Realms as illusory realms, shifting and changing with my consciousness. When I ceased observing and ceased thinking, everything froze, motionless; the Three Realms and my own body all turned into a phantom body of crystal, and time congealed within that crystal light, spacious and transparent. I was not even that tiny point of light, nor any object at all—without name, without appearance. Looking down from above, the earth, the Way-places, people, mountains, all things in the Three Realms became extremely minute, all within my downward gaze. Once again I deeply experienced the sensation that moving is yet not moving, acting is yet not acting, and grasped the true meaning of the two words “suchness.”

As I was about to rise from my seat, I suddenly saw again many states of dependent origination and cessation within the Buddha-dharma. I saw the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, the heavenly Dharma protectors, and others appearing illusorily amid the light and shadows of this world. The journey of life flashed like a brief bloom; in the eyes of ordinary worldly people they played various roles, together performing a play, and then the scene of all departing together. And within samadhi, these scenes felt like illusory appearances manifesting within illusory light; nothing carried any sense of reality or true reality. Unbidden, laughter burst forth from my heart, and I laughed until my body began to tremble. I emerged from samadhi.

August 13

Yesterday I returned to Lhasa.

This morning after getting up, I saw that it was raining outside. I began sitting meditation. About half an hour later, suddenly a patch of purple luminous cloud appeared in the space before me, surging forth like a flash flood and rushing into my celestial eye. The cloud vanished in an instant, but in the sky there appeared a round stupa. On both sides of the stupa were white stairs. In samadhi I ascended the stairs, knelt before the stupa door, and prostrated three times, saying three times, “I pay my respects to the teacher!” (as instructed by the Bodhisattva). But the stupa door remained tightly shut. I waited a long time; the door did not open, and the stupa was utterly silent. After I came out of samadhi, the rain had stopped, so I went out to circumambulate.

Many people were circumambulating the Potala Palace, and I merged into the stream of circumambulators.

After one circuit, I felt as though my crown had been lifted off, with rays of light shooting into the sky. And whenever someone nearby drew close to me, in that moment I felt myself vanish and become that person—their clothes and appearance were all vividly clear. In the past I had sometimes found that I was a transparent mirror, and other people or objects would reflect upon me, until I could no longer distinguish myself from others. But this time there was no sensation of the body turning transparent or crystal-like.

I was reciting the Six-Syllable Great Bright Mantra. My mind grew purer and purer as I moved forward with the crowd. When I had completed one circuit, the round stupa that had appeared during the morning meditation appeared again in the sky, and this time the entire stupa was white.

I did not divert my attention to contemplate the stupa. It kept revolving in the sky for more than half an hour.

All at once, a seven-colored ray shot from the stupa and entered my body through my crown cakra. The light coiled like a multicolored snake at my heart cakra, then vanished. With that, I heard the lower door of the stupa swing open with a whoosh, and I at once left my body and entered the stupa. At the center of the stupa, upon a Dharma throne, sat a Dharma king; he wore a yellow hat with two lappets hanging down and was clad in Dharma robes, as though he had just concluded a ritual. He appeared to be in his fifties, very gentle and kind.

He said, “Child, you have come.” I drew near and knelt before him.

He took up a bell with his right hand and gave it to me; I saw that at its center something like a human tongue was quivering. He said, “The bell represents wisdom. May your tongue and speech one day produce beautiful sounds.” With his left hand he took up a vajra and gave it to me; I saw the vajra transform into … He said, “The vajra represents skillful means. May all …” I accepted the bell and vajra. He said, “This journey to Palpung Monastery is far. It is well that you are protected by the Four Heavenly Kings; that sets my mind at ease. I will wait for you at Palpung Monastery.” With these words, the stupa and the Dharma teacher suddenly vanished. I circumambulated the Potala Palace two more times and then returned to my hotel.

August 14

Reflections on Spreading the Dharma

During Shakyamuni Buddha’s period of spreading the Dharma, Indian society was rigidly stratified. The vast differences in social status and living conditions between the Brahmins and the lowest-caste Shudras made many people of different ranks reflect on the causes of such hierarchy. Those at the bottom of society longed for a way to escape suffering. Therefore Shakyamuni Buddha first taught the Hinayana Four Noble Truths of suffering, its cause, its cessation, and the path, along with the theory of cause and effect, giving many people a reasonable understanding and explanation of their life destiny. At that time, India had many non-Buddhist paths; although their doctrines and methods were not ultimate or complete, many leaders of those paths had attained real accomplishments in their cultivation. They also possessed supranormal powers, and many of their methods enabled some people to benefit and genuinely give rise to experiences. Thus neither the level of supranormal powers, nor the variety of methods, nor the special benefits of rituals and ceremonies could allow the newly arisen Buddha-dharma to stand out distinctively among the already influential non-Buddhist paths and thereby flourish. The only way Buddhism could distinguish itself was that its teachings and doctrines were more complete and more perfectly reconciled, explaining the loopholes and flaws in other schools while transcending them to form a unique theoretical system. That is why great disciples like Shariputra took refuge in the Buddha only after hearing his perfect teachings. They did not look at the Buddha’s supranormal powers or methods and so forth, because those things other paths also had; only the Buddha’s doctrine was unparalleled.

But without doubt the Buddha’s doctrine is profound. Only a very few can comprehend it through study; the majority of sentient beings cannot directly benefit from doctrine alone. Talismans, mantras, sorcery, and supranormal powers—things that can directly confer tangible benefit upon sentient beings—are much more attractive for them to study. Thus when Buddhism in India increasingly abandoned many “skillful means” and turned into a scholastic debating tradition, it became detached from sentient beings and ultimately declined and perished.

When the Buddha first established and spread Buddhism, causing the Dharma to distinguish itself among the many schools of India and become the foremost of teachings, drawing many followers of non-Buddhist paths to take refuge under him, the methods he used suited the social and cultural conditions of India at the time. Moreover, the stages in which he propagated the Hinayana, Mahayana, and so forth also matched the foundations of the majority of practitioners then. If the Buddha had merely believed that his doctrine was the highest and had not employed plentiful skillful means to propagate it, rigidly thinking that “good things sell themselves,” I think the Buddha-dharma would not have risen so swiftly in India at that time.

Likewise, to use the pattern of “formation, duration, decay, and emptiness” to understand the nature of all things and then conclude that the Buddha-dharma is no exception, explaining the demise of Buddhism in India in this way, is simply the act of an irresponsible Buddhist disciple. We may speak theoretically like that. But in the end, all things merely undergo formal transformation, not total annihilation. Therefore the Buddha-dharma will certainly endure in the world through other forms of transmission and propagation; thus the true Dharma is not extinguished. If the capacities of sentient beings are suited only to cultivating the human and heavenly vehicles, then the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas will surely manifest as teachers of those vehicles and come to teach. The name of the teaching may change accordingly, but the core of compassion, wisdom, and skillful means of the Buddha-dharma will not change. If we cling only to the form in which the Dharma is spread, we will become stumbling blocks to the propagation of the true Dharma.

In this Dharma-Ending Age, external living conditions grow ever more comfortable. People are well fed and warmly clothed; when it is hot there is air conditioning; when they tire of walking there are cars and airplanes; when they fall ill there are decent medical facilities and medicines. They do not feel that life holds much suffering. As long as death has not yet arrived, for many it remains a very distant matter. They immerse themselves in satisfying desires. Even though death is unavoidable, since everyone must face it, they do not feel much fear or pain about it—as long as they can die without excessive agony. Those who do not believe in the six paths of rebirth feel no sense of urgency about ordinary death, nor do they need to keep in mind making any significant preparation for it. Even those who do believe often think they have done many good deeds in this life, that their conscience is clear, and that at most they need to practice the ten wholesome deeds to avoid falling into hell or the animal realm. Why bother to cultivate and realize the Buddha-dharma assiduously? Not perceiving suffering, having no concept of birth and death, lacking a clear understanding of the six paths or steadfast, unwavering faith, and failing to thoroughly penetrate cause and effect—all of this makes sentient beings unwilling to truly practice and realize the Dharma, unwilling to give anything or endure even the slightest difficulty that cultivation brings. This in turn affects the spread of the Buddha-dharma. Even some who profess faith end up merely performing empty flower-like Buddhist ceremonies and superficial gestures, only seeking the Buddhas’ and Bodhisattvas’ blessings to better satisfy their desires: for fame, for profit, for a healthy body, to keep their existing happiness safe and not lose it. Few people truly wish to enter the Buddha-dharma, to understand the Buddha’s knowledge and vision, to awaken to it, to enter into it, and to realize it. Thus most Buddhist students see only the surface of the Dharma. In this way, the Dharma is bound to decline.

But since sentient beings of this Dharma-Ending Age, out of craving for the many small desires and petty pleasures of the red dust, are unwilling to truly seek realization of the Dharma, if they came to know that after realizing the Dharma there is great bliss and inexhaustible treasure awaiting them, they would never be so “foolish” as to clutch a sesame seed and throw away a watermelon. They would surely rush pell-mell to “pan for gold.” But this requires all those who spread the true Dharma to give sentient beings a kind of confidence, so that those who “cling to appearances” can see through you the “treasure trove of the Buddha-dharma,” can glimpse some hope and enticement, and thus be willing to overcome all kinds of difficulties and obstacles for the sake of “realizing Buddhahood,” to overcome the temptations of small gains for the sake of the greater goal. Yet asceticism, strict precepts, the fear of losing everything, and the idea of abandoning the seven emotions and six desires all wall off countless pleasure-seeking sentient beings of the Dharma-Ending Age from the Buddha-dharma. On the one hand, their empty souls need a pillar and a faith; on the other hand, they are powerless to resist any temptation and feel not the slightest urgency to renounce the red dust. In this state, even if they practice the Buddha-dharma, they cannot benefit. How can Buddhism not decline and disappear?

“To lead them into the Buddha’s wisdom, first lure them with desire.” This line best fits the capacities of sentient beings in the Dharma-Ending Age. Sentient beings in this age don’t want empty talk; they want experience, they want sensation, they want supranormal powers, they want quick results, they want to pay the smallest price. How to get more sentient beings of this Dharma-Ending Age to board the great Dharma vessel—that is what every person devoted to spreading the Dharma must ponder. Spreading the Dharma requires more skillful means. Giving sentient beings a few toys first is not necessarily contrary to the Buddha-dharma. The Buddha himself used various “expedients of fruition stages and predictions” to strengthen his disciples’ faith. So why shouldn’t we use sentient beings’ desires to guide the situation? If you speak to someone who does not understand suffering about suffering and impermanence, how can he deeply experience it and wish to renounce his “happy life”? Even if he agrees with your viewpoint in principle, putting it into practice is still a hundred thousand miles away.

August 15

On Delivering Sentient Beings with Great Loving-Kindness and Compassion

An example: a person is drowning. You stand on the shore desperately telling him how to swim. I think the drowning man, who never learned to swim, has little hope of survival. At that moment, what he needs is for you to throw yourself into the water without regard for your own safety and rescue him. Of course, if you know how to swim, both of you may survive. If you do not know how to swim and only know the rules of swimming by heart, the result is obvious.

Actually, spreading the Buddhadharma follows the same principle. The Buddha’s teachings fill the Tripitaka in twelve divisions, and eminent monks of every school and lineage have already written more than enough. Yet how many sentient beings, studying those texts, have awakened upon hearing a single phrase, as the Sixth Patriarch did? The teachings and doctrines are guiding lamps that lead us toward liberation, but along the way, even when sentient beings accept the Dharma as correct, virtually none can resist the countless temptations of this world or their own desires. They sink helplessly into the ocean of cyclic existence. They need enlightened teachers who will leap into the “water” to rescue them, not sit on a “Dharma throne” preaching day after day. They need Buddha’s disciples committed to propagating the true Dharma to possess boundless compassion and boundless skillful means. They need those disciples first to learn how to “swim” themselves — to possess genuine expedient methods and depth of practice — and need every disciple who spreads the Dharma first to benefit from each method, to cross over and attain liberation. Even purely doctrinal teaching must be able to “prescribe the right medicine for the sickness.”

Only the teaching of a fully accomplished master can universally reach the “three faculties,” so that beings of different capacities each receive different insight and benefit. May every Buddha’s disciple devoted to spreading the Dharma apply effort precisely at the point of perfecting and liberating themselves. Do not hurry to propagate the Dharma, hurry to collect disciples. Do not, before rescuing your students, “drown” yourself in “fame, gain, and self-conceit.”

Sixteenth of the Eighth Lunar Month

A Brief Talk on the Stages of My Cultivation and Realization

One: I contemplated my body becoming a great round mirror. All worlds and everything within them appeared in the mirror. I began to understand that form itself is emptiness, emptiness itself is form. I knew that there is no true emptiness devoid of everything, nor are the worlds truly existent. At this point, mind-consciousness left the body and left all kinds of phenomena, existing without clinging to any object. This thing felt like a “great self,” all-encompassing, all-containing, dwelling everywhere, and no names or appearances of the Dharma Realm could describe it. Yet at that moment I still felt that a “me” remained. After understanding this principle, entering samadhi became relaxed and spontaneous. In samadhi, I no longer observed thoughts; they seemed unrelated to me, arising and ceasing on their own. Sometimes body and thoughts merged together, and I perceived no right or wrong. The body itself became part of thought. Sometimes contemplation was clear, as though sitting and watching mirages, clouds rising and falling. At other times, the “I” would disappear entirely — body and thoughts were me, with no observer present. But it felt different from the earlier chaos, because “no one” ran after the movements of thoughts, body, and mind. Breathing was barely perceptible; body, mind, and energy channels were profoundly subtle and luminous. Yet I still could not see through people and events while in the worldly dust; in worldly matters I could not yet apply this principle. Body and mind still moved with the seven emotions and six desires, but I could let go more easily, and my view was broader than that of ordinary people.

Two: At this stage, entering the world of dust, all people and events were like illusions and dreams. I felt as though I was walking through an illusory realm. Yet I still felt disinclined to make distinctions about many things. The distinguishing mind was still present; I merely felt it was meaningless. Some matters could still move my heart, and my state of mind would fluctuate high and low. I could not remain in constant stillness, nor treat people and events with utter detachment.

I felt that the six sense faculties, everything in the body, and the external world were increasingly being drawn inside the body, yet inside there was nowhere for them to land. It was as if the interior of the body were boundless like empty space, as though empty space itself were dwelling inside the flesh — the feeling of a mustard seed containing Mount Sumeru. In truth, the mind made no great distinction about this emptiness, not knowing whether it was large or small. I only sensed everything drawing inward; there was a concept of vastness, but the mind made no discriminations whatsoever, experiencing a state where the great has no outside and the small has no inside. In this state there was also “no self,” “no mind,” and not a single thing.

Three: In the world of dust, I saw through the causes and effects of people and events, the habitual tendencies and desires of others, with great clarity, but I still could not embrace everything. I loathed my own habitual tendencies and desires, and I looked down on others with disdain — the feeling that water too clear holds no fish. I could not be strict with myself and lenient with others. During this period, I withdrew from people, lived in seclusion. I hoped to avoid the dusty world. Sometimes within the worldly dust my distinguishing mind seemed even sharper; I grew more partial to pure, simple people and things, and dirt and chaos in my surroundings provoked a natural physical and mental reaction — very uncomfortable — but it did not give rise to afflictions or complaints. My mind was empty and hollow. In inner contemplation, my body often became like lapis lazuli.

What I was grateful for was that I had not been contaminated by the verbal teachings and doctrines of Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, the Dharma, or any school or lineage. I went as a guest into the great family of Shakyamuni Buddha, never daring to hang on to a single thread of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, never daring to ask them for a “fruit to eat” or a “prediction with a hand on the crown.” I went in stark naked and came back stark naked. The Buddha said: “I taught the Dharma for forty-nine years and never spoke a single word.” You come and go stark naked — what cause and condition is that? Ordinary beings are stained by the poisons of the Five Turbidities; those who study Buddhism are stained by “the Dharma.” In the eyes of the Buddha, there is no distinction between ordinary beings and sages, no difference in purity between the Buddhadharma and the worldly dust. It is pitiful that sentient beings’ six sense faculties are diseased, so they cling to all appearances and cannot turn away. . . .

That evening after dinner, Zheng Meiqin brewed a cup of tea for Ding Yiming and brought it into the study. Ding Yiming was just about to open Wu Aizhen’s third diary.

“You read so fast — you’ve finished both of them?”

“Mm. You still don’t know your husband reads ten lines at a glance.”

“Now I know. My admiration, my admiration. Don’t tire yourself out; you can read more tomorrow,” Zheng Meiqin said with concern, kneading his shoulders with her hands.

“You go rest first. I’m not sleepy yet.” Ding Yiming set down the diary and caught Zheng Meiqin’s hand on his shoulder, giving it a light kiss.

“Ai, I still want to ask you about those meditative states. Doesn’t Buddhism forbid cultivators from discussing states?”

“Forbidding the discussion of states is meant to prevent cultivators from clinging to the various states of the Three Realms and being unable to leave them. Forbidding it doesn’t mean those states don’t exist.”

“I know it’s to keep cultivators from clinging and losing their way. But when someone like Wu Aizhen, who has practiced for so many years, talks about these states, couldn’t it mislead some beginners into chasing states and supranormal powers?”

“For people who lack the correct view of emptiness in the Dharma, do you think that if you don’t mention states or supranormal powers, they won’t pursue them? Actually, there’s nothing wrong with talking about states and powers; it depends on who you’re talking to. Before accomplishment, everyone has attachments and discriminations; everyone is lost in walls of their own making, clinging to various illusions without knowing it. The Buddha said: the whole path of cultivation is ‘using illusion to subdue illusion,’ ‘using attachment to break attachment.’ In the end, the entire path of cultivation is only a dream; when you wake from the dream, you have great awakening. So the Buddha also said: ‘I have not spoken a single word in these forty-nine years.’ Once the dream is over, even the sutras and the Dharma are dreams, illusions, bubbles, and shadows.”

“So I believe that in cultivation, the important thing is to gain correct view, not to argue about what should or shouldn’t be said. I’m just idling here, looking at other people’s walls and the scenery along their cultivation paths. You should read it too. Don’t start by trying to tell true from false or right from wrong. Given all her years of cultivation and certification, she surely understands causes and conditions better than we do. Or you can just treat it as a fairy tale. But I won’t read any more today — I’d better go to bed early with Her Majesty.” Zheng Meiqin laughed and casually picked up one volume, saying she could flip through it in bed too. . . .

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