Category: Buddhist Sutra

Can Goodness Change Our Destiny? An Inspiring Buddhist Story About Karma

linda changLeave a comment

What if a frightening encounter could become the beginning of a spiritual awakening? What if the actions we take today could change the course of our future?

An ancient Buddhist parable offers a thought-provoking answer.

According to A Collection of Various Parables from the Sutras (Zhongjing Zhuan Za Piyu, Volume Two), long ago, Śakra, the ruler of the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven, and the Great Brahmā King were close friends.

One day, the Great Brahmā King visited Śakra and found him deeply troubled.

“Why are you so unhappy?” he asked.

Śakra replied, “When heavenly beings exhaust their accumulated heavenly blessings, they must be reborn elsewhere. If they have not cultivated goodness and accumulated merit, they may fall into the lower realms and suffer. I see fewer and fewer beings cultivating virtue, while more seem to be heading toward suffering. How can I not be worried?”

Moved by his friend’s concern, the Great Brahmā King proposed a plan.

“Let us descend to the human world to guide people toward goodness. You can transform yourself into a fierce lion, and I will appear as a Brahmin. Together, we can teach people the Dharma and encourage them to cultivate virtue and accumulate merit.”

The two heavenly kings then descended to a small kingdom.

Roaring lion statue overlooking people fleeing an ancient fortified city

Śakra, transformed into a mighty lion, appeared at the city gate and roared, “I want to eat people!”

The terrified citizens had no idea what to do. The Brahmin, who was actually the Great Brahmā King in disguise, offered a solution: “Why not give the lion thirty prisoners who have already been sentenced to death? Perhaps then it will leave the city alone.”

The people accepted his suggestion, and the thirty prisoners were handed over to the lion.

Instead of devouring them, however, the lion drove them into the mountains.

There, Śakra appeared in human form and offered the prisoners a way to save their lives.

“If you sincerely take refuge in the Three Jewels—the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha—observe the Five Precepts, and practice the Ten Virtuous Deeds, purifying your actions of body, speech, and mind, the lion will spare you.”

Illustrated monk beside sign reading “Five Precepts – refrain from killing, stealing, sexual misconduct, false speech, and intoxicants.”

Desperate for a second chance at life, the prisoners sincerely accepted his guidance. They took the Five Precepts and resolved to practice the Ten Virtuous Deeds.

True to his word, the lion did not harm them. Instead, he released them and allowed them to return home.

The lion warned them, however, that if they abandoned their virtuous conduct and failed to cultivate goodness, he would return.

One Person’s Transformation Can Inspire Many

When the thirty prisoners returned safely, the people were astonished. They asked how they had escaped the lion.

The former prisoners explained that a wise spiritual teacher had taught them to take refuge in the Three Jewels, observe the Five Precepts, and practice the Ten Virtuous Deeds. Through this encounter, they had found a path toward a better life.

Before long, the lion returned to the city.

Once again, the people were terrified. Remembering what had happened to the thirty prisoners, many came forward to receive the precepts and practice virtuous deeds.

The Great Brahmā King, appearing as the Brahmin, and Śakra, appearing as the lion, continued their journey through more than eighty thousand kingdoms, guiding countless people toward goodness.

According to the parable, those who cultivated virtue and accumulated merit during their lives would enjoy favorable rebirths and heavenly blessings after death.

The story concludes with the Buddha explaining its deeper significance to Ānanda.

Śakra, who had appeared as the lion, was the Buddha himself in a former life. The Great Brahmā King, who had appeared as the Brahmin, was Mahākāśyapa, one of the Buddha’s great disciples.

Because Mahākāśyapa had helped him guide countless beings toward the Dharma in that former life, the Buddha later honored him by sharing his seat with him. This gesture expressed gratitude for the assistance he had received on the path of benefiting living beings.

What Can We Learn From This Story Today?

At first glance, this parable may seem to be about a frightening lion and a miraculous escape from death. But its deeper message is about the power of moral transformation.

In Buddhism, our actions matter. What we do, say, and think shapes our character and influences the direction of our lives. Although we cannot control every circumstance we encounter, we can choose how we respond and what kind of person we become.

Ten Virtuous Deeds: Actions of the Body—protecting life, generosity, respectful conduct; Actions of Speech—truthful, harmonizing, kind, meaningful speech; Actions of the Mind—contentment, loving-kindness, right understanding.

The Five Precepts encourage us to refrain from killing, stealing, sexual misconduct, false speech, and intoxicants that lead to heedlessness. The Ten Virtuous Deeds further encourage us to avoid harmful actions and cultivate goodness through our body, speech, and mind.

These teachings are not merely ancient religious rules. They offer practical guidance for living with greater honesty, compassion, self-discipline, and respect for others.

We may not encounter a fierce lion at our city gates, but we face challenges every day. Anger can threaten our relationships. Greed can lead us to make harmful decisions. Jealousy and resentment can rob us of peace. Dishonesty may bring temporary advantages but gradually erode trust.

Each moment offers us a choice: to follow our impulses or to cultivate wisdom and goodness.

The story also reminds us that one person’s transformation can inspire an entire community. When the thirty prisoners returned home with a new understanding of virtue, their experience encouraged others to change. In the same way, a person who lives honestly, treats others with compassion, and acts responsibly can influence a family, a workplace, and even a wider community.

We do not always need grand gestures to make a difference. Sometimes, a kind word, an honest decision, a willingness to forgive, or a helping hand is enough to plant a seed of goodness in another person’s heart.

Finally, the Buddha’s gesture of sharing his seat with Mahākāśyapa offers another valuable lesson: never forget the kindness of those who help us grow. Gratitude is not merely a feeling; it is something we demonstrate through our actions and our willingness to help others in return.

We cannot know everything the future holds, but we can begin shaping it through the choices we make today.

Perhaps the most important question is not simply whether we will receive blessings in the future, but whether we are cultivating the causes of a wiser, kinder, and more compassionate life right now.

Every good thought, every honest word, and every compassionate act is a seed. We may not see its fruit immediately, but no sincere effort toward goodness is wasted.

Person meditating cross-legged beside a river with magical energy swirls around

If we wish to change our destiny, perhaps the best place to begin is with ourselves.

Link:https://peacelilysite.com/2026/10/28/can-goodness-change-our-destiny-an-inspiring-buddhist-story-about-karma/

Atisha: The Buddhist Master Who Followed Tara’s Guidance to Tibet

linda changLeave a comment

His remarkable journey, the devotion of Tibetan kings, and the legendary guidance of Tara

More than nine hundred years ago, an Indian Buddhist master undertook a difficult journey to Tibet that would profoundly influence the future of Tibetan Buddhism. His name was Atisha Dipankara Shrijnana (982–1054), a renowned scholar, meditation master, and spiritual teacher whose life was devoted to the liberation and well-being of sentient beings.

His story is not simply about the spread of a religion. It is about the power of compassion, the courage to leave behind worldly comfort, and the willingness to sacrifice personal interests for the benefit of others.

A Prince Who Chose the Spiritual Path

According to traditional biographies, Atisha was born into a royal family in eastern India. His birth name was Chandragarbha, and he grew up surrounded by the wealth and privileges of palace life.

Yet he was not satisfied with worldly success. Even as a young man, he felt drawn toward spiritual practice and the search for a deeper understanding of life.

Traditional accounts relate that Tara, the female Buddha associated with enlightened compassion and swift assistance, appeared to him in a vision when he was young. This encounter strengthened his determination to follow the spiritual path rather than pursue the life expected of a prince.

Atisha eventually renounced his royal future and became a monk. He studied with many distinguished Buddhist masters and developed an extraordinary command of Buddhist philosophy, meditation, ethics, and tantric teachings.

But one of the most important influences on his life came from a journey far beyond India.

Atisha traveled by sea to Suvarnadvipa, traditionally identified with present-day Sumatra, where he studied for twelve years under the great master Dharmakirti, also known as Serlingpa in Tibetan tradition.

There, Atisha received profound teachings on bodhichitta—the aspiration to attain enlightenment for the benefit of all sentient beings.

He later regarded these teachings as among the most precious gifts he had received. His life reminds us that genuine wisdom requires more than accumulating knowledge. It requires cultivating a heart that sincerely wishes to benefit others.

By the eleventh century, Buddhism in Tibet was undergoing a period of revival after earlier political upheavals and the disruption of Buddhist institutions.

The rulers of western Tibet wished to restore the teachings and strengthen the understanding and practice of the Dharma. They were particularly concerned about confusion surrounding Buddhist doctrine and the relationship between different forms of practice.

King Yeshe Ö became deeply committed to finding a qualified Indian Buddhist master who could help Tibetans recover a clear and systematic understanding of the teachings.

According to traditional Tibetan accounts, he sent young Tibetans to India to study Sanskrit and search for an appropriate teacher. Their journeys were dangerous, and many did not return.

Eventually, the name of Atisha emerged as that of a master whose learning, discipline, and compassion made him especially suitable for the mission.

The king’s efforts to invite him became one of the most moving stories in Tibetan Buddhist history.

Traditional biographies recount that Yeshe Ö was captured during his efforts to gather resources for the mission. When his nephew Jangchub Ö was unable to meet the captor’s demands for his release, Yeshe Ö urged him not to spend the remaining gold on rescuing him. Instead, he asked his nephew to use it to invite Atisha to Tibet.

In this traditional account, the king placed the future of the Dharma above his own life.

Whether every detail of this story can be historically verified or not, its spiritual message is unmistakable: the king believed that preserving the Dharma for future generations was more important than his personal safety.

After Yeshe Ö’s death, his nephew Jangchub Ö continued the mission. He sent the translator Nagtso to India with an earnest request for Atisha to come and help the people of Tibet.

Tara’s Guidance: A Decision That Changed History

Atisha did not immediately agree to leave India.

He was already an established teacher at Vikramashila, one of the great Buddhist monastic universities of the time. Leaving would mean abandoning familiar surroundings, colleagues, and responsibilities for a long and uncertain journey into a distant land.

Goddess in blue robe sitting on a lotus flower surrounded by lotus pond and traditional Asian pagodas at dusk

Traditional biographies tell us that Atisha sought guidance from Tara, his revered spiritual protector.

According to these accounts, Tara appeared to him in a vision and explained that traveling to Tibet would bring great benefit to the Dharma, although it would shorten his life.

Atisha faced a profound choice: remain in India, where he could continue his work in familiar surroundings, or travel to Tibet, where his help was urgently needed.

The traditional story says that he chose Tibet, accepting the personal cost because he believed the journey would benefit countless beings.

This is one of the most inspiring parts of his life.

Tara’s appearance belongs to the spiritual narratives preserved by the Buddhist tradition; it is not something that can be independently established as a historical event. For devotees, however, the story expresses an important understanding of spiritual guidance: wisdom is not merely about choosing what is comfortable or advantageous for oneself, but discerning where one’s efforts can bring the greatest benefit.

In 1042, Atisha arrived in western Tibet, in the kingdom of Guge.

His arrival was a moment of great significance. According to traditional accounts, monks, laypeople, and local leaders gathered to welcome him in a grand procession. People had traveled to meet the Indian master whose arrival they hoped would strengthen the Dharma in their homeland.

Imagine the scene: after years of hardship and repeated efforts to bring him to Tibet, the people finally welcomed the teacher for whom they had waited so long.

Tibetan people welcoming an Indian guru

Atisha was deeply moved by their enthusiasm. He was also impressed by the intelligence and dedication of the Tibetan practitioners he encountered.

Yet he recognized that many people needed a clearer understanding of how the various Buddhist teachings fit together and how they could be applied in everyday life.

King Jangchub Ö therefore asked him to teach in a way that ordinary people could understand and practice.

Rather than asking for teachings that sounded profound but were difficult to apply, the king wanted guidance on ethical conduct, karma, compassion, and the steps that lead toward enlightenment.

Atisha responded by composing one of his most influential works, A Lamp for the Path to Enlightenment (Bodhipathapradipa).

This concise text organized the Buddhist path into a clear framework, integrating ethical discipline, the cultivation of wisdom, and the development of bodhichitta. It became a foundational influence on later Tibetan Buddhist teachings about the stages of the path to enlightenment.

Atisha did not merely bring more books or philosophical ideas to Tibet. He helped present the Dharma as a coherent path that people could study, contemplate, and practice.

A Statue of Tara That Could Speak

Among the many fascinating stories associated with Atisha is the tradition that sacred images spoke to him.

This is the statue of Tara that Venerable Atisha is said to have kept with him at all times. According to tradition, the statue once spoke to him and communicated with him.
The statue is now enshrined at Tara Temple (Drolma Lhakhang) in Lhasa, Tibet.

According to his traditional biography, while circumambulating the great Buddhist stupa at Bodh Gaya in India, Atisha heard sacred statues speaking about the importance of bodhichitta. Their message was that the essential path to enlightenment lay in cultivating love, compassion, and the aspiration to benefit all beings.

The story is a reminder that, within Buddhist devotional traditions, sacred images are not always regarded as mere objects of art. They can serve as powerful reminders of the qualities that practitioners seek to develop.

Tara held a particularly important place in Atisha’s spiritual life. Traditional accounts describe her appearing in visions to guide him, including in his decision to travel to Tibet.

These narratives are cherished by many Buddhist practitioners as expressions of faith and spiritual inspiration. They are best understood as traditional religious accounts rather than independently verified historical events.

Whether one approaches them through faith, cultural history, or symbolic interpretation, their central message is meaningful: spiritual guidance should lead us toward greater compassion, wisdom, and responsibility for others.

What Can Atisha Teach Us Today?

Atisha lived in a very different world from ours, yet the questions he faced remain familiar.

We live in a time when information is abundant, opinions are everywhere, and people often disagree about what is true. It is easy to accumulate knowledge without allowing it to transform our behavior.

Atisha’s life points toward another way.

First, knowledge must be accompanied by practice. Learning about compassion is not the same as treating people compassionately. Understanding karma is not merely discussing cause and effect; it is taking responsibility for our intentions, words, and actions.

Second, true spiritual growth requires humility. Despite his extensive education, Atisha continued to learn from qualified teachers. His example reminds us that wisdom is not a reason to feel superior to others. It is an opportunity to understand ourselves more deeply and serve others more effectively.

Third, compassion sometimes asks us to step beyond our comfort zone. Atisha left a respected position in India to help people far away. We may never be called to undertake such a journey, but we can respond to the needs around us—in our families, communities, and wider world.

Sometimes compassion means giving our time. Sometimes it means listening patiently, helping someone in difficulty, or admitting that we were wrong. Small actions, when guided by sincere concern for others, can also make a meaningful difference.

Finally, Atisha’s story reminds us that the most valuable teachings are those that help us change our lives. The Dharma is not simply something to admire from a distance. It is a path to be walked.

The Light That Continues to Shine

Atisha passed away in Tibet in 1054, but his influence did not end with his life. His writings, his disciples, and the traditions that developed from his teachings helped shape the course of Tibetan Buddhism.

His journey was made possible by the devotion of Tibetan rulers, the dedication of translators and messengers, and the willingness of a great teacher to respond to a distant people’s spiritual needs.

The story of Atisha and Tara adds another dimension to this legacy: the belief that a life guided by wisdom and compassion can accomplish far more than a life devoted only to personal success.

We may not be able to travel across mountains to revive a Buddhist tradition, as Atisha did. But each of us has opportunities to bring a little more understanding into the world.

We can study sincerely, practice humbly, and treat others with compassion. We can use what we know not to elevate ourselves above others, but to lessen suffering wherever possible.

Perhaps this is one of the most enduring lessons of Atisha’s life: the true light of the Dharma shines not only through what a person teaches, but through the compassion that person is willing to put into action.

Link: https://peacelilysite.com/2026/10/21/atisha-the-buddhist-master-who-followed-taras-guidance-to-tibet/

Do We Truly Practice What We Learn? A Timeless Lesson from the Buddha

linda changLeave a comment

We live in an age when information is everywhere. We can read books, listen to lectures, memorize wise sayings, and discuss spiritual teachings with others. Yet an important question remains: Has what we learned truly changed the way we live?

A story from the Dhammapada, verses 19 and 20, offers a powerful answer.

Two Monks, Two Different Paths

During the Buddha’s time, two monks from noble families were close friends. One became highly learned in the Buddhist scriptures. He mastered the Tripitaka, taught many monks, and became a respected teacher.

The other monk chose a different emphasis. He devoted himself diligently to meditation and the direct practice of the Dharma. Through sustained effort, he attained Arhatship, the state of liberation described in the Buddhist tradition.

One day, the two monks met at Jetavana Monastery. The learned monk did not realize that his old friend had attained such a high level of spiritual realization. Looking down on him because he knew fewer scriptures, he intended to test him with difficult questions and expose his lack of knowledge.

The Buddha understood what was happening. Out of compassion, he intervened and questioned the two monks himself.

The learned monk could answer questions about teachings he had studied, but he could not answer questions concerning spiritual attainments he had never personally experienced. His friend, through diligent practice and realization, answered correctly.

The Buddha praised the monk who had put the Dharma into practice.

When the other monks wondered why their learned teacher had not received the same praise, the Buddha explained the difference between knowing the teachings and living them.

He compared the person who recites the Dharma without practicing it to a hired cowherd who counts and tends another person’s cattle. Although he spends his days among the cattle, he does not own them or enjoy their produce. By contrast, the person who practices the Dharma receives its genuine benefits.

The lesson was not that learning is useless. Rather, knowledge becomes truly valuable when we put it into practice.

1. Knowing the Truth Is Not the Same as Living It

We may know that anger harms us, yet lose our temper when someone criticizes us. We may understand that greed brings dissatisfaction, yet continue to compare our possessions with those of others. We may speak beautifully about compassion, yet turn away when someone needs our help.

Why does this happen?

Because understanding something intellectually is not the same as transforming our habits, thoughts, and actions.

We can memorize a hundred teachings about patience, but patience is tested when someone treats us unfairly. We can read countless passages about forgiveness, but their meaning becomes real when we face someone who has hurt us.

The same is true of kindness, humility, and generosity. They are not demonstrated merely by what we say we believe, but by how we respond when life becomes difficult.

The real question is not simply, “How much do I know?” It is, “How much of what I know have I put into practice?”

2. Spiritual Pride Can Become an Obstacle

The learned monk’s greatest mistake was not his knowledge. It was his pride.

Because he knew more scriptures, he assumed that he was spiritually superior to his friend. He judged another person’s attainment by what he could see and measure, without understanding what had taken place within that person’s mind.

How easily can we make the same mistake?

We may judge others by their education, profession, wealth, social position, religious knowledge, or public reputation. Even in spiritual communities, people can become attached to titles, recognition, and the appearance of being wise.

Yet genuine wisdom should make us more humble, not more arrogant.

The more deeply we understand ourselves, the more carefully we should judge others. We rarely know the full extent of another person’s struggles, efforts, or inner growth.

A quiet person may possess a depth of kindness we have not yet developed. Someone who speaks little about spirituality may live with greater patience and compassion than someone who speaks about it every day.

We should therefore be cautious about assuming that outward appearances reveal a person’s true spiritual condition.

3. The Dharma Must Transform Our Everyday Lives

The Buddha’s teaching is not meant to remain confined to books, temples, or meditation halls. Its value is revealed in the ordinary moments of daily life.

When someone offends us, can we pause before reacting?

When we see another person succeed, can we feel happy for them instead of becoming jealous?

When we make a mistake, can we admit it honestly rather than finding excuses?

When someone needs help, can we offer what we reasonably can without constantly asking what we will receive in return?

These moments may seem small, but they are opportunities to practice.

Buddhist teachings emphasize overcoming greed, hatred, and delusion. This does not happen simply because we can explain these concepts. It requires observing our own minds, recognizing unwholesome tendencies, and repeatedly choosing a wiser response.

Every time we replace anger with patience, selfishness with generosity, or prejudice with understanding, we take a step toward making our lives more consistent with what we believe.

Spiritual practice is not only what happens when we close our eyes in meditation. It is also what happens when we open them and meet the world.

4. From Collecting Knowledge to Cultivating Wisdom

Today, we can spend hours watching inspirational videos, listening to spiritual talks, and sharing meaningful quotations on social media. These activities can be helpful, but they can also create the illusion that we are growing simply because we are constantly consuming information.

Sometimes, one teaching sincerely practiced is more valuable than a hundred teachings merely remembered.

Instead of asking how many books we have read, perhaps we should ask whether we have become more patient. Instead of counting how many spiritual talks we have attended, we might reflect on whether we have become more compassionate toward our families, friends, strangers, and even those with whom we disagree.

We do not need to master every scripture before beginning to practice. We can start with what we already understand.

If we learn about compassion, we can practice it today. If we learn about impermanence, we can cherish the people and moments we have instead of taking them for granted. If we learn about letting go, we can begin by loosening our grip on one resentment or one unnecessary desire.

Knowledge points the way. Practice helps us walk it.

The story of the two monks invites us to look inward rather than use spiritual knowledge to measure other people.

At the end of each day, we might quietly ask ourselves:

  • Was I kinder today than I was yesterday?*
  • Did I respond to difficulties with greater patience and understanding?*
  • Did my words and actions reflect the values I claim to believe in?*

We will not always succeed. We may still become angry, act selfishly, or make mistakes. The purpose of reflection is not to condemn ourselves, but to recognize where we can improve and begin again.

True progress does not require us to appear perfect before others. It requires the honesty to see ourselves clearly and the willingness to change.

The Buddha’s message in these verses remains as relevant today as it was more than two thousand years ago: reciting the teachings alone does not bring their full benefit. We must embody them in our lives.

The measure of wisdom is not simply how much we know, but how deeply that knowledge transforms the way we think, speak, and treat others.

May we learn not merely to speak about the Dharma, but to live it—one thought, one word, and one action at a time.

Link：https://peacelilysite.com/2026/10/15/do-we-truly-practice-what-we-learn-a-timeless-lesson-from-the-buddha/

We Spend So Much Time Trying to Live Longer—But Are We Learning How to Live Better?

linda changLeave a comment

Modern people are fascinated by longevity.

We study nutrition, exercise, sleep, supplements, medical treatments, and the latest science of aging. We count our steps, monitor our heart rate, change our diets, and search for new ways to add more years to our lives.

But there is another kind of nourishment that is easy to overlook: the nourishment of the heart and spirit.

A Buddhist story from the Treasury of Miscellaneous Treasures (Za Bao Zang Jing) offers a beautiful perspective on this.

During the time of the Buddha, there was a wealthy elder whose young son was deeply loved.

According to the Buddhist scripture, when the child was about five or six years old, a fortune-teller examined him and said that the child had great blessings—but one serious weakness: his life would be short.

The father was devastated. He searched for ways to help his son live longer and eventually brought him to the Buddha.

The Buddha did not give him a special medicine or promise that death could simply be defeated.

Instead, the Buddha taught the child to cultivate humility, patience, and respect.

The child was instructed to respectfully bow to people entering and leaving the city.

One day, a being who had intended to take the child’s life appeared in the form of a Brahmin. When the child respectfully bowed to him, the being instinctively blessed him, saying, in essence, “May you have a long life.”

Because he had spoken those words, he could no longer go against them.

The scripture concludes that through the child’s humility, patience, and respectful conduct, his life was extended.

The story is recorded in Za Bao Zang Jing（杂宝藏经）, Volume Four, in the story known as “The Elder’s Son Seeks Long Life from the Buddha.”

What If Longevity Is More Than Taking Care of the Body?

This ancient story makes me think about how differently we sometimes approach longevity today.

We are very concerned about what we put into our bodies, but perhaps we should also ask:

What are we putting into our hearts?

We carefully consider food, but what about anger?

We worry about toxins in the environment, but what about resentment?

We exercise our bodies, but do we exercise patience?

We try to strengthen our immune systems, but do we strengthen compassion?

We may spend years searching for ways to extend our physical lives while forgetting that the quality of those years also matters.

Many years ago, I heard an elderly Chinese doctor say something that stayed with me:

“Medicine nourishes the body, food nourishes the body better, movement nourishes it even more—but while nourishing the body, never forget to nourish the heart. Wherever you do good, there is nourishment.”

I have always loved the wisdom behind these simple words.

Taking care of our bodies is important. Eating well, exercising, sleeping properly, and receiving appropriate medical care all matter.

But perhaps taking care of the heart is another form of longevity practice.

What Are We Nourishing Every Day?

Every act leaves something behind in us.

When we constantly become angry, anger becomes easier.

When we hold on to resentment, resentment becomes heavier.

When we practice kindness, kindness becomes more natural.

When we help someone, we may discover that our own heart becomes lighter.

When we forgive, we release something that we have been carrying.

When we sincerely help others, perhaps we are not only giving something away—we are also nourishing something within ourselves.

This is one reason Buddhist teachings place such importance on compassion, generosity, patience, and wholesome actions.

The goal is not simply to have a longer life.

It is to cultivate a better life.

Of course, doing good should not be viewed as a transaction: “If I help others, I will definitely live longer.”

The deeper lesson is about how we live.

We can take care of our bodies while also taking care of our minds and hearts.

We can eat nutritious food and also “feed” ourselves with kindness.

We can exercise our bodies and also practice patience.

We can seek medical treatment when we are ill and, at the same time, work on releasing anger, jealousy, resentment, and fear.

Perhaps true wellness requires both.

Nourish the body, but do not forget to nourish the heart.

And perhaps the simplest nourishment is kindness.

What Kind of Life Are We Trying to Extend?

The Buddhist story of the young child does not tell us that we can control the length of our lives simply by doing good deeds. Life and death involve causes and conditions far beyond our understanding.

But the story reminds us of something important:

While we cannot completely control how long we live, we can pay attention to how we live.

Perhaps the question is not only:

“How can I live longer?”

but also:

“How can I make the years I have more compassionate, meaningful, and beneficial to others?”

Maybe that is another kind of longevity—one measured not only in years, but in the goodness we leave behind.

We spend so much time trying to add years to life.

Perhaps we should also spend some time adding life to our years.

Because sometimes, the best way to nourish ourselves is to nourish someone else.

Link:https://peacelilysite.com/2026/09/22/we-spend-so-much-time-trying-to-live-longer-but-are-we-learning-how-to-live-better/

What Are You Training Your Mind to Become?

linda changLeave a comment
Person running on treadmill inside gym with brain activation and flow diagram

A Buddhist Lesson from a Horse That Forgot How to Run

There is a fascinating story in the Da Zhuangyan Lun Jing (Sutra of Great Adornment).

A king once raised many excellent horses, originally prepared for battle. Because neighboring countries knew he possessed such strong horses, they were afraid to attack.

Horses powering a wooden grain mill in a spring mountain village

As the years passed without war, however, the horses were given to ordinary people for daily work. They were used to turn grinding mills. Day after day, year after year, the horses walked in circles around the mill.

Then one day, an enemy invaded.

The king quickly called the horses back and prepared them for battle. But when they reached the battlefield, something unexpected happened. Instead of charging forward, the horses continued walking in circles—the same movement they had practiced for years.

Even when the soldiers tried to drive them forward, the horses found it difficult to change.

The Da Zhuangyan Lun Jing uses this story to illustrate an important truth: what we repeatedly practice becomes our habit, and what becomes our habit can shape how we respond when it matters most.

The Circle We Walk Every Day

The most meaningful part of this story is that the horses did not suddenly learn to walk in circles on the battlefield.

They had practiced that circle for years.

Our minds can be like that too.

What do we do first when we wake up?

For many of us, we reach for our phones.

We check one message, then another. We watch one short video, then automatically swipe to the next. We see someone else’s life and begin comparing ourselves. We read a comment we dislike and immediately become irritated.

Each individual moment may seem insignificant.

But repeated thousands of times, these moments become habits.

And habits do more than organize our daily lives. They train our minds.

So perhaps an important question is not only:

“What did I do wrong today?”

but also:

“What am I teaching my mind to become?”

If we constantly train ourselves to seek the next notification, the next video, the next piece of stimulation, it should not surprise us when we later sit down to meditate, pray, or recite the Buddha’s name and find that our minds cannot remain still.

We may wonder, “Why is my mind so scattered?”

But the scattering did not begin when we sat down.

We simply became quiet enough to notice it.

We Are Always Practicing Something

This is where the Buddhist teaching of 熏习, xunxi—habitual conditioning or repeated imprinting becomes meaningful.

In Buddhist teachings, repeated actions of body, speech, and mind leave tendencies that influence what arises again in the future. In Yogācāra thought, the relationship between “seeds” and “manifestations” describes how repeated mental and behavioral patterns can strengthen similar tendencies.

If we repeatedly become angry, anger becomes an easier path to follow.

If we repeatedly compare ourselves with others, dissatisfaction and jealousy can become easier to generate.

If we constantly seek stimulation, restlessness can gradually become our normal state.

Person meditating cross-legged beside a river with magical energy swirls around

The same principle, however, can work in a wholesome direction.

If we repeatedly practice patience, patience becomes more familiar.

If we repeatedly practice gratitude, gratitude becomes easier to access.

If we repeatedly return our attention to the present moment, returning becomes easier.

If we repeatedly cultivate compassion, compassion can gradually become a more natural response.

This gives us a hopeful understanding of spiritual practice.

Every day, we are training the mind in one direction or another.

Practice is not simply about waiting until a difficult situation appears and then trying desperately to control ourselves.

It is about working with the mind before the battlefield arrives.

When someone says something unpleasant to us, can we pause before responding?

When anger arises, can we notice it before turning it into harsh words?

When we have a few empty minutes, must we immediately reach for the phone?

When disturbing thoughts appear, can we recognize them without automatically following them?

These small moments may seem ordinary.

But they are where practice actually happens.

We do not need to wait for a major crisis to practice Buddhism.

The battlefield is often hidden inside ordinary life.

Habits Are Not a Life Sentence

There is another important lesson here.

If our habits have been formed through repetition, does that mean we are trapped by them?

No.

If habits could never change, there would be no such thing as cultivation.

Old habits may be strong, but they can gradually be transformed through right understanding, mindfulness, and repeated practice of wholesome actions.

Perhaps yesterday we immediately reacted when someone upset us.

Today, we pause for three seconds.

Perhaps yesterday every moment of boredom led us to our phones.

Today, we put the phone down and sit quietly for five minutes.

Perhaps yesterday an unpleasant thought appeared and carried us away.

Today, we notice it and gently return to the Buddha’s name, a prayer, our breath, or the present moment.

These may seem like very small victories.

But they matter.

Every time we do not follow an old habit, we walk that old road a little less. Every time we return to mindfulness, we make a new road a little stronger.

What Are You Practicing Today?

The story of the horses teaches us something that is easy to forget.

The horses did not become accustomed to walking in circles overnight.

They simply repeated the same movement until it became natural.

Our lives can work the same way.

The way we speak, the things we watch, the thoughts we repeatedly entertain, the emotions we feed, and the actions we practice every day are quietly shaping who we are becoming.

This does not mean we must live perfectly.

It means we should become more conscious of what we practice.

Perhaps tonight, before going to sleep, we can ask ourselves:

What did I practice today?

Did I practice impatience or patience?

Comparison or gratitude?

Fear or compassion?

Distraction or awareness?

Anger or forgiveness?

We may not be able to change our entire life in one day.

But we can change one response.

And then another.

The old road became familiar because it was walked again and again.

A new road can become familiar in exactly the same way.

Perhaps this is one of the quietest and most practical forms of Buddhist wisdom:

Every ordinary moment is a moment of cultivation.

What we repeatedly do today may become the direction our mind naturally takes tomorrow.

Link: https://peacelilysite.com/2026/09/18/what-are-you-training-your-mind-to-become/

Can a Cow Painted on a Wall Give Milk?

linda changLeave a comment
Indian monk milking a painted cow

Bodhisattva Candrakīrti: Milking a Cow in a Painting

Recently, I came across a video about Bodhisattva Candrakīrti, one of the great Buddhist masters of ancient India.

The video told a remarkable story: according to Buddhist tradition, Candrakīrti was able to obtain milk from a cow that existed only in a painting.

When I first heard this, I was amazed.

How could a cow painted on a wall or in a picture possibly give milk?

Curious, I looked into the story and discovered that it is more than a fascinating Buddhist legend. Behind it stands a great master in the history of Buddhism and, more importantly, a profound teaching about emptiness.

Candrakīrti lived in India around the sixth or seventh century. He was one of the most important masters of the Madhyamaka, or Middle Way, school of Buddhist philosophy, and an important commentator on the teachings of Nagarjuna.

His best-known work, Madhyamakāvatāra (Introduction to the Middle Way), became an important text for the study of Madhyamaka philosophy.

Candrakīrti deeply explored a central Buddhist teaching:

All things arise in dependence upon causes and conditions. Nothing exists with an independent, permanent, unchanging essence.

This is one of the meanings of emptiness.

According to a story preserved in Buddhist tradition, Candrakīrti once lived and practiced at a monastery. Because some people did not understand his way of practicing, they misunderstood him.

Later, he was given responsibility for providing milk for the monastery. It is said that Candrakīrti released the cows into the forest, allowing them to roam freely.

Yet somehow, milk continued to appear at the monastery.

People were puzzled.

If the cows were far away in the forest, where was the milk coming from?

Some people secretly followed Candrakīrti.

According to the traditional story, they saw him approach a painting of a cow—and somehow draw milk from the painted cow.

It is an extraordinary story.

But perhaps the most important question is not whether the event sounds miraculous.

It is what the story invites us to think about.

We normally think:

A real cow can give milk.

A painted cow cannot.

That seems obvious.

Yet the story of the painted cow quietly asks us:

What exactly do we mean when we say something is “real”?

This question goes to the heart of Candrakīrti’s teachings on emptiness.

Emptiness does not mean that nothing exists.

Rather, it means that things do not exist independently, permanently, or entirely on their own. Everything depends upon causes, conditions, relationships, and the way we designate and understand it.

For example, someone is called a “teacher” because there are students. Someone is called a “parent” because there is a child. These identities arise through relationships and conditions.

When we look more deeply, we begin to see that many things we regard as fixed and permanent are actually dependent upon countless conditions.

What I find most meaningful about this story is that it encourages us not to be too quick to conclude:

Person meditating with illustrated thoughts about present moment, past memories, future dreams, sensations, and emotions

“Things must always be this way.”

“That is absolutely impossible.”

“I already know the answer.”

Our understanding of the world is often shaped by our past experiences, habits, assumptions, and fixed ideas.

Buddhist practice encourages us to hold our views more lightly—to have less attachment, more observation; less prejudice, more humility.

When we loosen our attachment to the belief that “I must be right,” we may begin to see possibilities and truths that we could not see before.

So when I think about the story of Candrakīrti and the painted cow, I no longer see it simply as a miraculous tale.

To me, it feels more like a doorway.

A doorway inviting us to question our ideas about reality, to recognize our own attachments, and to explore the deeper wisdom of dependent origination and emptiness.

Perhaps the story was never meant simply to leave us amazed.

Perhaps it is inviting us to look more deeply.

Just when we think we have completely understood the world, there may still be much more for us to discover.

And perhaps that is one of the most beautiful lessons we can receive from the wisdom of Bodhisattva Candrakīrti.

Link: https://peacelilysite.com/2026/09/09/bodhisattva-candrakirti-milking-a-cow-in-a-painting/

Source： https://www.fjdh.cn/wumin/2009/04/06452346128.html?utm_source=chatgpt.com， https://tricycle.org/magazine/truth-about-truth/?utm_source=chatgpt.com， https://baike.baidu.com/item/%E6%9C%88%E7%A7%B0/9958686

The Yongle Bell: A 600-Year-Old Marvel of Chinese Civilization

linda changLeave a comment

At the Ancient Bell Museum in Beijing stands one of China’s most remarkable national treasures—the Yongle Bell（永乐大钟）.

Commissioned by the Yongle Emperor, Zhu Di （永乐皇帝朱棣）, the bell is believed to have been designed and supervised by Yao Guangxiao（姚广孝）, a highly respected Buddhist monk whose Dharma name was Daoyan（道衍）. Yao Guangxiao was much more than a religious figure. He was also a scholar, strategist, and trusted adviser to Emperor Zhu Di.

Their relationship began before Zhu Di became emperor, when he was still the Prince of Yan. Yao Guangxiao became one of his trusted advisers and continued to serve him after Zhu Di ascended the throne. He was closely involved in major projects of the Yongle era, including the construction of Beijing and the compilation of the monumental Yongle Encyclopedia（永乐大典）.

It is remarkable that one of the most ambitious Buddhist bells in Chinese history was connected to a monk who stood so close to the emperor and played such an important role in the cultural and political life of the Ming Dynasty.

Cast during the Yongle era, around 1420, the Yongle Bell stands approximately 6.75 meters (22 feet) high and weighs about 46.5 metric tons (over 102,000 pounds).

More than six centuries later, it remains an extraordinary testament to the sophistication of ancient Chinese craftsmanship.

A Casting Technique That Seems Almost Impossible

How could ancient craftsmen have created such a gigantic bell more than 600 years ago?

The Yongle Bell was produced using a traditional Chinese technique known as the pit-mold ceramic casting method, or clay-mold method.

First, the craftsmen dug a massive casting pit several meters deep. Inside the pit, they constructed the bell’s inner mold using clay and other organic materials, while the outer ceramic mold was built up layer by layer.

One of the most fascinating features is the Pulao-shaped bell knob at the top.

In Chinese mythology, Pulao is one of the nine legendary sons of the dragon. It was believed to have a powerful voice, which is why its image became associated with bells.

The Pulao knob of the Yongle Bell was reportedly cast separately using the lost-wax casting technique. It was then carefully incorporated into the casting mold so that it became an integral part of the finished bell.

Then came the most critical moment.

Dozens of furnaces were fired simultaneously. Molten bronze, glowing like rivers of fire, flowed through specially prepared channels and surged into the enormous mold.

The operation demanded extraordinary coordination. Temperature, the flow of molten metal, pouring time, and the structure of the molds all had to be carefully controlled.

A single major error could have ruined the entire project.

The successful casting of the Yongle Bell was therefore an extraordinary engineering and organizational achievement.

The bell’s achievement lies not only in its enormous size.

Scientific analysis shows that its alloy contains copper, tin, and lead as its principal metals, along with smaller amounts of elements including gold, silver, and nickel.

The carefully formulated alloy contributed to the bell’s strength, toughness, ductility, and acoustic properties.

A bell of this size must support its own enormous weight while withstanding repeated powerful impacts. If the metal were too brittle, cracks could develop; if the alloy composition were unsuitable, the bell’s resonance could also be affected.

Yet after more than 600 years, the Yongle Bell remains remarkably well preserved.

Its condition offers an impressive glimpse into the advanced metallurgical knowledge possessed by ancient Chinese craftsmen.

A “Bell of Scriptures”

If the bell’s size is astonishing, its inscriptions are even more extraordinary.

The inner and outer surfaces, as well as areas around the rim, are densely covered with Buddhist scriptures, sacred texts, and mantras.

According to historical descriptions, the bell contains more than 230,000 Chinese characters and Buddhist inscriptions.

Even more remarkable, these inscriptions were not carved onto the finished bell. They were incorporated directly into the casting process.

This meant that hundreds of thousands of characters had to be accurately prepared in the molds before the molten bronze was poured.

According to tradition, the inscriptions were associated with the celebrated Ming Dynasty calligrapher Shen Du. The characters display the dignified and elegant style associated with guan’ge ti, the formal calligraphic style favored by the imperial court.

To transform such delicate calligraphy into cast inscriptions, craftsmen had to reproduce the writing in the mold, creating corresponding recessed characters. After the molds were prepared and fired, molten bronze was poured into them, producing the raised inscriptions on the finished bell.

Imagine doing this without computers, laser engraving, digital typesetting, or modern precision machinery.

More than 230,000 characters had to be arranged across the curved surfaces of a gigantic bronze bell.

Every character had to be carefully formed and every line precisely positioned.

On one side was the art of the calligrapher.

On the other was the skill of the craftsman.

In the end, calligraphy, Buddhist scripture, and bronze became one.

The Yongle Bell is therefore not simply a gigantic bronze artifact.

It is almost like a Buddhist scripture cast in metal.

The Deep and Resonant Voice of the Bell

Perhaps the most captivating feature of the Yongle Bell is not what we see, but what we hear.

When struck by a massive bell striker, the thick bronze produces a deep, powerful, and extraordinarily sustained resonance.

According to accounts of its acoustic properties, under appropriate striking conditions, the resonance can continue for nearly three minutes. In the relatively quiet environment of ancient Beijing, its sound was reportedly capable of traveling for many kilometers.

Imagine Beijing more than six centuries ago.

At dawn, the first powerful note of the Yongle Bell rises into the air. Its deep, solemn sound travels beyond walls, streets, and fields, gradually fading into the distance.

The bell’s voice was not simply a means of marking time. It also carried religious meaning and occupied an important place in the spiritual culture of the period.

One Bell, Many Arts

The Yongle Bell brings together an extraordinary range of human skills.

Metallurgy transformed tons of raw materials into a strong and resilient bronze structure.

Casting technology made it possible to create an enormous bell with remarkable precision.

Calligraphy turned more than 230,000 characters into an intricate work of art.

Buddhist culture gave the inscriptions their profound spiritual meaning.

And acoustical craftsmanship gave the massive bronze its deep, sustained voice.

More than six centuries later, the Yongle Bell remains a remarkable achievement—not simply because of its size, but because of the extraordinary combination of engineering, artistry, religious culture, and craftsmanship embodied in a single object.

The Yongle Bell brings together the vision of an emperor, the knowledge of a scholar and Buddhist monk, the artistry of calligraphers, and the extraordinary skill of generations of craftsmen.

Standing before it today, one can see far more than a massive bronze bell.

One sees thousands of carefully formed characters, intricate craftsmanship, and the physical evidence of an ambitious undertaking carried out more than 600 years ago.

And then there is the sound.

A single strike can set this enormous bronze body into motion, allowing its resonance to linger long after the initial impact has disappeared.

The Yongle Bell is history cast in bronze, scripture transformed into art, and ancient craftsmanship given a voice.

It remains one of China’s extraordinary cultural treasures—and a remarkable achievement that deserves to be known and appreciated by people around the world.

Link：https://peacelilysite.com/2026/09/07/the-yongle-bell-a-600-year-old-marvel-of-chinese-civilization/

Source: https://zhuanlan.zhihu.com/p/547435529, https://wwj.beijing.gov.cn/bjww/wwjzzcslm/1737418/1738090/wwgs/325966413/index.html, https://news.cctv.com/program/tgkw/20040329/102069.shtml

From Invisibility Spell to Enlightened Master: The Wild Life of Nagarjuna

linda changLeave a comment
A Tibetan depiction of Nagarjuna; the snakes are depicted as protectors around Nagarjuna’s head and the nagas rising out of the water are offering Buddhist sutras

Throughout the two-thousand-year history of Buddhism, if one were to ask which master’s life was the most thrilling and dramatic, the answer would undeniably be Nagarjuna Bodhisattva.

He was not only the founder of the Madhyamaka (Middle Way) school and a foundational pillar of Mahayana Buddhism, but also an enlightened master whose incredible wisdom was matched only by his extraordinary life story. Revered by later generations as the “Ancestor of Eight Schools,” this legendary figure actually began his youth walking a path of extreme rebellion and reckless indulgence.

Nagarjuna was born into a noble Brahmin family in Southern India, displaying gifts from an early age that far exceeded ordinary human limits. As a child, he possessed a photographic memory—listening to the four sacred Vedas of Brahmanism just once before reciting them by heart with a complete grasp of their deepest meanings. By the time he reached his youth, he had transformed into a true polymath, mastering everything from astronomy and geography to divination, worldly arts, and various esoteric sciences.

Young scholar studying maps and arcane instruments in a candlelit library

However, genius without wisdom often becomes fuel for pride and unchecked desire. Believing he had already learned everything the worldly realm had to offer, the young Nagarjuna gathered with three like-minded friends to ponder a fateful question: “Life is short, and we have already mastered all human knowledge. What is left for us to pursue?” Their conclusion was as absurd as it was dangerous—to pursue ultimate pleasure and indulge in every sensory distraction.

Determined to indulge without restrictions, the four young men sought out a sorcerer and learned the art of invisibility. Armed with this miraculous power, they brazenly snuck into the royal palace, engaging in reckless escapades and chaotic antics for months while plunging the court into fear and suspicion. Realizing something unnatural was occurring, the King devised a clever trap by ordering fine sand scattered across the palace hallways and gates to track the invisible intruders’ footprints.

When the four entered the palace once more, soldiers surrounded their footprints and swung their swords wildly through the air. Nagarjuna’s three friends were unable to dodge the blades and were executed on the spot. Showing quick thinking under intense pressure, Nagarjuna saved his own life by pressing himself tightly against the King’s throne—knowing the soldiers would never dare swing their swords near the monarch’s seat.

Watching his closest companions cut down in a flash of blood and terror, Nagarjuna experienced a profound, shocking epiphany:

“Desire is the root of suffering, the source of all calamity. Misconduct and defilement know no greater depth than this!”

In that single, terrifying moment, he saw through the illusion and danger of worldly desires, resolving to abandon his past and walk the path of virtue.

Immediately after escaping the palace, Nagarjuna renounced the worldly life and took monastic vows. He fully mastered the entire Tripitaka—the Buddhist canon—in a mere nine months. Unsatisfied with basic mastery, he journeyed deep into the snow-capped mountains to seek out renowned masters and broaden his spiritual horizons.

According to tradition, sensing that the teachings available in the human realm were incomplete, Nagarjuna was guided by the Great Naga (Dragon) Bodhisattva to the underwater Dragon Palace. Inside its vast scriptural library, he discovered profound, high-level Mahayana sutras, including the Avatamsaka Sutra (Flower Garland Sutra), which he brought back to the human world to spread among spiritual seekers.

From: https://lingyinsi.org/detail_5502.html

Upon his return, Nagarjuna authored countless seminal treatises that transformed Buddhist philosophy forever. He penned foundational texts such as the Mulamadhyamakakarika (Fundamental Verses on the Middle Way), the Twelve Door Treatise, and the Mahaprajnaparamita Upadesa (Commentary on the Great Perfection of Wisdom). Through these works, he formulated the profound doctrine of Dependent Origination and Emptiness (Pratītyasamutpāda and Śūnyatā), establishing the core philosophy of the Madhyamaka school while shattering the worldly attachments and misconceptions of his era.

Nagarjuna’s life is a remarkable journey from extreme pride and confusion to ultimate enlightenment. Through his own transformation, he proved to the world that delusion and awakening exist only a single thought apart. It was precisely that thrilling trial on the edge of life and death that forged his supreme wisdom to break all worldly attachments, ultimately creating one of the most revered spiritual grandmasters in human history.

Link:https://peacelilysite.com/2026/09/03/from-invisibility-spell-to-enlightened-master-the-wild-life-of-nagarjuna/

Why being “right” isn’t enough—and how true communication requires compassion, timing, and genuine benefit

linda changLeave a comment

Beyond the Truth: The Buddha’s Wisdom on Sacred Speech

In daily life, we frequently hear people defend sharp or hurtful remarks with a familiar defense: “I’m just speaking the truth.”

We often operate under the assumption that as long as our statements are factually accurate, we are justified in ignoring the timing, the setting, and the recipient’s emotional capacity. Yet in the Abhaya Sutta (Majjhima Nikaya 58) of the Pali Canon, the Buddha offers a radically different perspective on communication: the true value of speech extends far beyond mere factual accuracy.

The story begins with a trap. Nigantha Nataputta, leader of the Jains, sought to publicly corner the Buddha. He instructed Prince Abhaya to pose a carefully engineered dilemma:

“Would the Tathagata utter speech that is displeasing or disagreeable to others?”

It seemed like an inescapable box:

  • If the Buddha answered “Yes,” the prince would argue that he was no different from any ordinary person who hurls harsh words and causes distress.
  • If the Buddha answered “No,” the prince would counter by pointing to instances where the Buddha severely rebuked Devadatta—words that were undeniably painful for Devadatta to hear.

Confident in his trap, Nigantha Nataputta boasted that the question would stick in the Buddha’s throat like a barbed nut—impossible to swallow and impossible to spit out.

When Prince Abhaya hosted the Buddha for a meal the next day and posed the question, the Buddha quietly dismantled the binary trap: “There is no single, one-sided answer to this matter.”

The Buddha refused to play by a rigid, two-dimensional rule. Whether a Master speaks is never determined solely by whether the listener will find the words pleasant.

Having neutralized the debate tactic, the Buddha turned toward a young child sitting near the prince and offered a deeply human metaphor.

He asked the prince: “If this young child were to accidentally put a sharp piece of wood or a pebble into his mouth, what would you do?”

The prince replied without hesitation that he would immediately try to extract it. If necessary, he would hook his finger into the child’s mouth to drag it out—even if it meant causing pain or drawing blood—because the object had to come out.

When the Buddha asked why he would do such a thing, the prince’s answer was simple: “Because of compassion for the child.”

With this single image, the debate shifted entirely.

Some truths are uncomfortable to hear, much like removing a foreign object from a child’s mouth brings temporary pain. But the criterion for speaking is never immediate comfort; it is long-term welfare. A loving father reaches into his child’s mouth not to assert dominance, nor to punish, but because leaving the pebble inside causes far greater harm.

Through this parable, the Buddha established three essential checkpoints that every word must pass before it is spoken:

  • Truthfulness: Is it grounded in fact? Words that are false are never spoken.
  • Benefit: Is it genuinely useful? Even if a statement is 100% true, if it brings no constructive benefit to the listener, it remains unsaid.
  • Timeliness: Is this the right moment? Only when a statement is both true and beneficial will a wise speaker choose the appropriate time to speak it.

In the Buddha’s framework, truth is merely the entrance requirement. If a statement is factually correct but unhelpful, ill-timed, or purely divisive, silence is the highest wisdom.

Looking Inward: Winning vs. Healing

The contrast between the two parties in this sutta highlights two very different motivations for speaking:

  • The Debate Strategy: Designed to corner, crush, and silence the other person—driven by the desire to win.
  • The Buddha’s Response: Designed like a parent rescuing a child from danger—driven by the desire to heal.

This distinction invites us to examine our own hearts before we speak “harsh truths” or offer sharp criticism:

Are we speaking because we genuinely want to help the other person suffer less, or are we simply trying to prove ourselves right and dominate the conversation?

True goodwill allows for necessary firmness, but it must always rest upon the foundation of truth, benefit, and proper timing. Practicing the wisdom of Right Speech is not just about holding our tongue—it is about refining our intent, ensuring that every word we release carries gentle yet steadfast compassion.

Link:https://peacelilysite.com/2026/09/02/why-being-right-isnt-enough-and-how-true-communication-requires-compassion-timing-and-genuine-benefit/

The Relaxation of Thoughts

linda changLeave a comment
Woman sitting cross-legged meditating with glowing colorful energy swirls in a forest

Translated from the Pali by Thanissaro Bhikkhu

I have heard that on one occasion the Blessed One was staying at Savatthi, in Jeta’s Grove, Anathapindika’s monastery. There he addressed the monks, “Monks!”

“Yes, lord,” the monks replied.

The Blessed One said: “When a monk is intent on the heightened mind, there are five themes he should attend to at the appropriate times. Which five?

“There is the case where evil, unskillful thoughts — connected with desire, aversion, or delusion — arise in a monk while he is referring to and attending to a particular theme. He should attend to another theme, apart from that one, connected with what is skillful. When he is attending to this other theme, apart from that one, connected with what is skillful, then those evil, unskillful thoughts — connected with desire, aversion, or delusion — are abandoned and subside. With their abandoning, he steadies his mind right within, settles it, unifies it, and concentrates it. Just as a skilled carpenter or his apprentice would use a small peg to knock out, drive out, and pull out a large one; in the same way, if evil, unskillful thoughts — connected with desire, aversion, or delusion — arise in a monk while he is referring to and attending to a particular theme, he should attend to another theme, apart from that one, connected with what is skillful. When he is attending to this other theme, apart from that one, connected with what is skillful, then those evil, unskillful thoughts — connected with desire, aversion, or delusion — are abandoned and subside. With their abandoning, he steadies his mind right within, settles it, unifies it, and concentrates it.

“If evil, unskillful thoughts — connected with desire, aversion, or delusion — still arise in the monk while he is attending to this other theme, connected with what is skillful, he should scrutinize the drawbacks of those thoughts: ‘Truly, these thoughts of mine are unskillful, these thoughts of mine are blameworthy, these thoughts of mine result in stress.’ As he is scrutinizing the drawbacks of those thoughts, those evil, unskillful thoughts — connected with desire, aversion, or delusion — are abandoned and subside. With their abandoning, he steadies his mind right within, settles it, unifies it, and concentrates it. Just as a young woman — or man — fond of adornment, would be horrified, humiliated, and disgusted if the carcass of a snake or a dog or a human being were hung from her neck; in the same way, if evil, unskillful thoughts — connected with desire, aversion, or delusion — still arise in the monk while he is attending to this other theme, connected with what is skillful, he should scrutinize the drawbacks of those thoughts: ‘Truly, these thoughts of mine are unskillful, these thoughts of mine are blameworthy, these thoughts of mine result in stress.’ As he is scrutinizing the drawbacks of those thoughts, those evil, unskillful thoughts — connected with desire, aversion, or delusion — are abandoned and subside. With their abandoning, he steadies his mind right within, settles it, unifies it, and concentrates it.

“If evil, unskillful thoughts — connected with desire, aversion or delusion — still arise in the monk while he is scrutinizing the drawbacks of those thoughts, he should pay no mind and pay no attention to those thoughts. As he is paying no mind and paying no attention to them, those evil, unskillful thoughts are abandoned and subside. With their abandoning, he steadies his mind right within, settles it, unifies it, and concentrates it. Just as a man with good eyes, not wanting to see forms that had come into range, would close his eyes or look away; in the same way, if evil, unskillful thoughts — connected with desire, aversion or delusion — still arise in the monk while he is scrutinizing the drawbacks of those thoughts, he should pay no mind and pay no attention to those thoughts. As he is paying no mind and paying no attention to them, those evil, unskillful thoughts are abandoned and subside. With their abandoning, he steadies his mind right within, settles it, unifies it, and concentrates it.

“If evil, unskillful thoughts — connected with desire, aversion or delusion — still arise in the monk while he is paying no mind and paying no attention to those thoughts, he should attend to the relaxing of thought-fabrication with regard to those thoughts. As he is attending to the relaxing of thought-fabrication with regard to those thoughts, those evil, unskillful thoughts are abandoned and subside. With their abandoning, he steadies his mind right within, settles it, unifies it, and concentrates it. Just as the thought would occur to a man walking quickly, ‘Why am I walking quickly? Why don’t I walk slowly?’ So he walks slowly. The thought occurs to him, ‘Why am I walking slowly? Why don’t I stand?’ So he stands. The thought occurs to him, ‘Why am I standing? Why don’t I sit down?’ So he sits down. The thought occurs to him, ‘Why am I sitting? Why don’t I lie down?’ So he lies down. In this way, giving up the grosser posture, he takes up the more refined one. In the same way, if evil, unskillful thoughts — connected with desire, aversion or delusion — still arise in the monk while he is paying no mind and paying no attention to those thoughts, he should attend to the relaxing of thought-fabrication with regard to those thoughts. As he is attending to the relaxing of thought-fabrication with regard to those thoughts, those evil, unskillful thoughts are abandoned and subside. With their abandoning, he steadies his mind right within, settles it, unifies it, and concentrates it.

“If evil, unskillful thoughts — connected with desire, aversion or delusion — still arise in the monk while he is attending to the relaxing of thought-fabrication with regard to those thoughts, then — with his teeth clenched and his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth — he should beat down, constrain, and crush his mind with his awareness. As — with his teeth clenched and his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth — he is beating down, constraining, and crushing his mind with his awareness, those evil, unskillful thoughts are abandoned and subside. With their abandoning, he steadies his mind right within, settles it, unifies it, and concentrates it. Just as a strong man, seizing a weaker man by the head or the throat or the shoulders, would beat him down, constrain, and crush him; in the same way, if evil, unskillful thoughts — connected with desire, aversion or delusion — still arise in the monk while he is attending to the relaxing of thought-fabrication with regard to those thoughts, then — with his teeth clenched and his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth — he should beat down, constrain, and crush his mind with his awareness. As — with his teeth clenched and his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth — he is beating down, constraining, and crushing his mind with his awareness, those evil, unskillful thoughts are abandoned and subside. With their abandoning, he steadies his mind right within, settles it, unifies it, and concentrates it.

“Now when a monk… attending to another theme… scrutinizing the drawbacks of those thoughts… paying no mind and paying no attention to those thoughts… attending to the relaxing of thought-fabrication with regard to those thoughts… beating down, constraining and crushing his mind with his awareness… steadies his mind right within, settles it, unifies it and concentrates it: He is then called a monk with mastery over the ways of thought sequences. He thinks whatever thought he wants to, and doesn’t think whatever thought he doesn’t. He has severed craving, thrown off the fetters, and — through the right penetration of conceit — has made an end of suffering and stress.”

That is what the Blessed One said. Gratified, the monks delighted in the Blessed One’s words.

Link: https://peacelilysite.com/2026/08/28/the-relaxation-of-thoughts-2/