A few years ago, I visited a well-known Chan (Zen) practice center and began what I thought would be a meaningful journey into Chan meditation as a lay Buddhist disciple. Alongside the physically demanding daily farm work, I occasionally joined meditation sessions—but instead of clarity or insight, they often left me feeling drowsy and disoriented. I also listened to recordings of teachings by an elderly monk, but they felt dry and uninspiring. At the time, I thought this was all Chan practice had to offer. Disappointment quietly took root in my heart.
As I spent more time at the center, I began to notice that some of the Buddhist nuns displayed strange and unsettling behavior. I was told that their mental disturbances had arisen during meditation and, without proper guidance or support, their conditions had never improved. The idea that meditation—supposedly a path to peace—could lead to such outcomes deeply frightened me. I couldn’t help but worry: Would I end up like them? My own practice was already filled with drowsiness and confusion. Each time I sat for meditation, their presence weighed heavily on me. What had gone wrong? Why did their practice lead to such distress?
One memory remains especially vivid. During a seven-day retreat, the presiding master criticized the decision to take the temple’s elderly abbot to the hospital when he fell critically ill. The master insisted that the abbot should have remained in the temple, reciting Amitabha Buddha’s name to seek rebirth in the Western Pure Land. He questioned why anyone would try to prolong life at the time of death, suggesting that doing so only prolonged suffering. Many attendees agreed, believing the abbot’s passing was natural and that emergency medical care was unnecessary. I was shocked. Something felt inherently wrong with that view. I wasn’t a monastic, just a lay practitioner, yet I couldn’t help but ask: When someone is in a coma, completely unconscious, can they still recite “Amitabha” with sincere intent? Can they truly attain rebirth in the Pure Land just by wishing so? Logically, this didn’t make sense to me.
Later, I heard of a monk who made a solemn vow to realize his true nature through three years of Chan meditation—and if he failed, he would return to lay life. Sadly, three years passed, and the result was heartbreaking. He had gained no realization.
After this string of disheartening events, I lost my passion for Buddhist practice. I felt lost, as if I’d reached a spiritual dead end. I even began questioning the purpose of monastic life: If there’s no true goal or path to liberation, what’s the point? Reluctantly, I considered giving up and returning to a mundane life.
But just when I stood at this crossroads, I encountered the Dharma discourses of H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III. It was like a brilliant light breaking through the darkness—suddenly, all the disappointment, fear, and confusion that had weighed on me vanished. At that moment, I made a resolute decision to let go of my doubts and wholeheartedly follow the path illuminated by the Buddha’s true teachings. Eventually, my wish was fulfilled.
What I shared here are just my personal experiences—perhaps not yet the true path of Chan—but they reflect challenges that many practitioners face in their spiritual pursuit. Fortunately, I came across the book Concentration and Visualization—The Essence of the Right Path by Pamu, and the profound teachings of The Supreme Dharma of Chan imparted online by H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III. For the first time, I received complete and correct teachings and truly understood what Chan meditation is meant to be.
Furthermore, through reading H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III’s Expounding the Absolute Truth through the Heart Sutra (specifically page 216), I finally understood why those nuns had lost their way. Their mental disturbances stemmed from becoming attached to illusions produced by the manas consciousness, mistakenly believing those illusions were real. They had failed to comprehend the profound truth that all forms are illusory and false. Caught in delusion, they strayed into a demonic path.
The retreat master’s complaints about the abbot’s emergency care were also misguided. As stated in the article “Lay Buddhist Zhao Yusheng’s Transmission of the Dharma is Genuine, Not False”, if someone truly possesses the realization and power of H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III—to the extent that the yidam Amitabha Buddha manifests and receives the deceased into the Pure Land—then yes, there would be no need for emergency treatment. But how many people have such realization? Did that master?
And what about the monk who gave up after three years? He didn’t know that there exists a supreme and ultimate Buddha Dharma—one so profound that it can open the crown chakra in just two hours. When opened, the space is vast and expansive like an eggshell, and consciousness can freely enter and exit the body, even engage in practice outside the body. With such realization, seeing one’s true nature is not a distant goal but a near certainty.
Looking back, I feel deep compassion for those nuns. They longed for true Dharma and liberation, but without authentic teachings or proper guidance, and weighed down by attachments and karmic hindrances, they couldn’t achieve realization. Tragedies like this still happen today. It’s heartbreaking.
The most authentic and supreme Buddha Dharma is that which comes from H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III, yet many sentient beings remain unaware of it. Even those with karmic affinity who encounter the teachings may still fail to receive them due to karmic obstacles or worldly pressures—missing their rare chance to escape the endless cycle of birth and death.
All I can do is sigh deeply and reflect: The true Dharma of the Buddha is so rare, so precious—harder to encounter than one might in millions of kalpas. I am incredibly fortunate to have this karmic opportunity to respectfully listen to and study the Dharma discourses of H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III.
Peace LiLy 