Category: history

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 Selling Price of His Painting “Majesty” Has Shocked the World

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What Type of Expert Is He? The Selling Price of His Painting “Majesty” Has Shocked the World

The Explanation of the Buddha’s Title – “H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III”

On April 3, 2008, a solemn and dignified first-publishing ceremony of a fact-recording book entitled H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III, which published jointly by the World Buddhism Publishing LLC and the World Dharma Voice, Inc., was held at the Library of the Congress of the United States. The book was also formally accepted into the collection of the Library of the Congress of the United States. Only since that time, did people in the world know that Master Wan Ko Yee, who had been broadly respected by the great masses and who had also been known as Great Dharma King Yangwo Yeshe Norbu, had been recognized by the world’s leaders, regent dharma kings, and great rinpoches of Buddhism through official documents as the third incarnation of Dorje Chang Buddha, who is the primordial Sambhogakaya Buddha of the universe. The Buddha’s name is H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III. Since then, people began to address His Holiness the Buddha by “Namo[1] Dorje Chang Buddha III.” This is similar to the situation that Sakyamuni Buddha’s name was Prince Siddhartha Gotama before attaining Buddhahood. However, after Sakyamuni Buddha had attained Buddhahood, His title changed to “Namo Sakyamuni Buddha.” That is why we now address His Holiness the Buddha as “H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III.”

In particular, on December 12, 2012, the Senate Resolution No. 614 of the United States Congress officially used “His Holiness” in the name addressing Dorje Chang Buddha III (That is to say, “H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III.”) Since then, the title and status of H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III has been definitive by nature. And, as a matter of fact, “Dorje Chang Buddha III” is a name used legally in governmental and official legislative documents. Therefore, the previously used respected name and titles such as “Wan Ko Yee,” Great Master, and Great Dharma King no longer exist.

However, the news below was published before the Buddha’s title of H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III was publicly announced. At that time, people did not know about the true status of His Holiness the Buddha. Therefore, to respect the true history, we still kept the names used before the title of H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III was legitimately determined in republishing this news. However, all must clearly know that the only legitimate name of His Holiness the Buddha is H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III and all other names used before the legitimate determination no longer exist.

Los Angeles Asian Journal May 31, 2000

What Type of Expert Is He? The Selling Price of His Painting “Majesty” Has Shocked the World

Some people say that Master Wan Ko Yee (H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III) is an expert in Buddhism. Some say that he is a great painter or a great singer. There are those who say that he is a great medical expert or a great ethicist. There are also those who say that he is a scientist. On May 28th, Unique Art Collections International Co., Ltd. auctioned Master Wan Ko Yee’s painting entitled “Majesty.” An art collector purchased this painting by way of competitive bid for a price of NT$64,950,000 (this equals U.S.$2,125,327.) People all over the world were shocked to hear of this purchase price.

Some people think that the paintings of Master Wan Ko Yee (H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III) are Buddhist paintings and for this reason command such an extraordinarily high price. This viewpoint, which has been expressed to the media by certain people who do not understand art, is totally erroneous. In fact, Mr. Wan Ko Yee is a great artist whose paintings cannot be matched by anyone in this day and age. Eleven of his paintings were exhibited by China in an international art exhibition which took place in Philadelphia in 1978. The mainland Chinese government even built a huge art museum, the first of its kind in thehistory of China, in order to display more than two hundred of his paintings.

Master Wan Ko Yee (H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III) is not only a famous and great artist, he is also a leader in the world of art. When he was twenty years old, he was the head of the Chinese Painting Research Division of the China Education, Science and Culture Organization. This is a high level organization within art circles in China and its leaders include people such as Chou Ying-Nan, Wu Zhang-Shu, Qian Jun-Tao, Xie Zhi-Liao, Liang Shu-Ming, Wan Lai-Ming and Cang Ke-Jia.

In the entire history of Chinese painting, no other painter was able to master the amount of artistic skills, the variety of different styles and the diversity of subject matter which Master Wan Ko Yee has mastered. Other painters could only exhibit two or three different artistic skills at the most. For example, Zhang, Da-Qian exhibited three different artistic skills: line painting, traditional painting and splash ink painting. However, Master Wan Ko Yee has completely mastered a few dozen different artistic skills. Master Wan Ko Yee can paint landscapes, people and other objects, animals, flowers, birds, fish and insects by using the meticulous brushwork style or by using the freehand brushword style. Whichever style he uses, his paintings are always elegant, grand, and full of life. One can get a glimpse of his artistic skills by looking through the huge book which contains a collection of his paintings.

In 1995, the Sichuan Daily News and the Chengdu Evening News each printed an advertisement on behalf of an auction house. This auction house wanted to buy the Master’s paintings for a price of R.M.B. 1,700 yuan per square inch. Master Wan Ko Yee’s skills have reached the highest level in the world when it comes to ink and wash paintings. Thus, in 1991, the World Poets and Culture Congress conferred upon him the title of “The world’s only Distinguished International Master.” This is the highest position possible and is on the same level of honor as a head of state.

Of course, the Master is also an ethicist. His books included Selected Philosophical Saying of Master Wan Ko Yee (H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III) . He is a singer. There are fourteen tapes and CD’s containing his songs. The famous singer Zhang Huw-You is his student. He is a scientist. He developed two green teas called “Ba Wang Chun” and “Bi Yu Chun.” These are the best quality teas in the world. He is a medical expert who has cured countless people of a variety of different diseases. There were times when in one day, more than three hundred people had appointments to see the Master for treatment. The Master invented many new treatments for diseases, such as an extremely effective different experts? Why is it that this one person Master Wan Ko Yee (H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III) , has combined skills of several different experts? The main reason is that he is a Great Dharma King Master of Buddhism. He has truly mastered the Five Knowledges spoken if in Buddhism. All of his skills mentioned above cover only part of the Five Knowledges which he has mastered. Instead of trying to describe what type of the expert he is, it would be better simply to say that he surpasses the word “expert.” He is a precious treasure who is a benefit to humanity. He is a Dharma King Master who is a rare gem in this world.

Link: https://ibsahq.org/news-data-en?id=186

#DorjeChangBuddhaIII #DorjeChangBuddha #Buddha l

The Relaxation of Thoughts

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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/

Floating High on Borrowed Wings: The Parable of the Monk and the Ghost

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In a world driven by metrics, social validation, and external applause, it is easy to mistake the platform we stand on for our own height.

A striking story from the Miscellaneous Parables Sutra (雜譬喻經) serves as a timeless reminder of what happens when we rely on borrowed support—and how genuine self-correction and gratitude can transform our lives.

Meditating monk floating above a mountain village with swirling spirit energy

The sutra tells of a monk expelled from his monastic community after committing a serious infraction. Cast out into the cold, he did not spend his solitude reflecting on his actions or feeling genuine remorse. Instead, he was consumed by anxiety, lamenting his lost veneration, the vanished daily offerings, and his ruined reputation.

During his aimless wandering, he encountered a ghost who was similarly miserable, having been banished by Vaisravana, the Heavenly Guardian King. Recognizing a shared plight, the ghost proposed a clever scheme:

“I am invisible to human eyes. I will lift you up and carry you on my back through the sky, creating the illusion that you are an enlightened saint who can fly. When the villagers marvel at your supernatural powers and shower you with rich offerings, we will split the rewards.”

The monk eagerly agreed to the trick.

When the villagers looked up and saw the monk floating effortlessly above their heads, they were stunned. Outraged at what they assumed was a grave mistake, they openly criticized the monastic community for exiling a “holy, enlightened master.” The villagers welcomed the monk back with grand celebrations, lavishing him with honor, luxury, and prestige.

Everyone marveled at how high he could fly, but not a single soul saw the invisible ghost holding him up from underneath.

The grand deception came to a sudden, tragic end. One day, while gliding majestically through the clouds above an admiring crowd, the ghost caught sight of Vaisravana’s celestial guards patrolling the sky. Panic-stricken, the ghost fled instantly to save itself, dropping the monk mid-air.

Deprived of his hidden foundation, the monk plummeted straight to the earth and died on impact. In a single heartbeat, the awe-inspiring elevation vanished, leaving behind only the stark reality of his fall.

This ancient parable holds profound lessons for navigating our modern lives:

1. Change Yourself; Don’t Fool Yourself with Tricks

Calming cortisol storm into peaceful light

When we make mistakes or face setbacks, our default ego response is often self-preservation: making excuses, masking weaknesses, or using superficial fixes to maintain a successful image.

  • The Trap: Relying on pretense or shortcuts creates an inherently fragile foundation. You might fool the world—and even convince yourself—for a short time, but unaddressed flaws will eventually lead to a catastrophic downfall.
  • The Wisdom: True strength demands radical self-honesty and sincere repentance. Growth begins the moment you stop managing impressions, admit your shortcomings, and commit to the quiet work of genuine internal reform.

2. Cultivate Deep Gratitude for Everyday Support

While the monk’s ghost was a force of deception, the story reminds us that no individual ever ascends entirely on their own strength.

  • The Reality: Our everyday accomplishments, safety, and comfort are upheld by a vast, unseen network: the dedication of our families, the collaboration of colleagues, societal infrastructure, and nature itself.
  • The Wisdom: Approach life with profound humility and gratitude. Recognizing that you are constantly sustained by the effort of others keeps the ego in check and prevents you from mistaking collective support for personal superiority.

3. Cultivate True Inner Substance Through Buddhist Practice

In Buddhism, spiritual practice (xūxíng) is not a performance designed to win public admiration, gain influence, or secure material comfort. Its core purpose is twofold: self-liberation (zìlì) and the compassionate liberation of others (lìtā).

The Practical Lesson: External applause, reputation, and titles are merely temporary, borrowed conditions. When life strips away all external privileges, your true capability is measured by your internal substance: your moral integrity, emotional stability, and capacity for wisdom under pressure.

Self-Liberation (Enduring Peace): Authentic practice focuses on purifying the mind from the “Three Poisons”—greed, anger, and ignorance. It is about understanding the nature of impermanence so that you are no longer a slave to praise, wealth, or worldly status. By upholding ethical precepts (Sīla) and cultivating deep mental stability (Samādhi), you gain the true ability to transcend the cycles of anxiety and suffering (Samsāra).

The Bodhisattva Path (Wisdom & Compassion): True practice extends outward through Bodhicitta—the boundless vow to help all sentient beings break free from their own pain. When your actions are driven by genuine wisdom (Prajñā) and selfless compassion, you build an unshakeable spiritual center that remains calm, composed, and helpful to others regardless of external circumstances.

When external validation fades and all borrowed support is withdrawn, what remains is your actual inner substance: your ethics, emotional stability, and capacity for wisdom.

When the applause fades and external support steps back, what internal foundation are you left standing on?

Link:https://peacelilysite.com/2026/08/28/floating-high-on-borrowed-wings-the-parable-of-the-monk-and-the-ghost/

Beyond Logic: How Compassion Subdued Ancient India’s Sharpest Mind

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Aśvaghoṣa (Japanese Kamakura period, 13th century – http://burkecollection.org/catalogue/10-memy%C5%8D-bosatsu)

In the brilliant expanse of Buddhist history, one name stands out with singular brilliance. He was not only the 12th Patriarch in the Zen lineage originating from ancient India, but also a literary genius who captured the hearts of a continent through the power of poetry and music: Aśvaghoṣa (known in Chinese tradition as Bodhisattva Horse-Nneigh).

This is the legendary story of how a once-arrogant Brahmin prodigy suffered a dramatic defeat in a battle of wits, entered the Buddhist monastic order, and ultimately became a towering master who galvanized the rise of Mahayana Buddhism.

Born into a noble Brahmin family in Eastern India, young Aśvaghoṣa possessed exceptional intelligence. He mastered classic texts, arts, and above all, the razor-sharp logic of public debate. In ancient India, intellectual debates were high-stakes events where the defeated party was expected to convert and become a disciple of the victor. Driven by youthful pride, Aśvaghoṣa swept through Central India, issuing a brazen challenge to the entire Buddhist community:

“If any monk can defeat me in debate, I will sever my own head in apology! But if no one dares face me, every monastery in this region must cease striking the ghanta—the traditional wooden blocks and bells used to assemble the sangha!”

Faced with his fierce logic and intimidating rhetoric, no local monk dared step forward. As a result, the once-vibrant monasteries fell silent. Morning gongs and evening bells ceased, and the public prestige of Buddhism plummeted.

Hearing of this crisis from Northern India, an venerable elder named Venerable Pārśva knew that if Aśvaghoṣa’s arrogance went unchecked, the true teachings of the Mahayana tradition would fail to flourish. Despite his advanced age, Pārśva traveled vast distances on foot to answer the challenge.

On the day of the grand debate, the arena was packed with the king, ministers, and tens of thousands of onlookers. Observing the frail, white-haired elder, the young prodigy felt immediate condescension. “Venerable monk,” Aśvaghoṣa asked arrogantly, “what shall be the stakes of our debate?” Pārśva calmly replied, “The loser shall become the disciple of the winner, shaving his head and following him for life.” Aśvaghoṣa readily agreed.

Aśvaghoṣa invited the elder to speak first. Pārśva uttered a single, deceptively simple statement of blessing:

“May the world enjoy peace, may the king live a long life, may the land be rich and joyful, and may all disasters cease.”

A hush fell over the crowd. Aśvaghoṣa froze.

By the rules of debate, Aśvaghoṣa was required to refute his opponent’s opening premise. Yet, Pārśva had stated a benevolent blessing for the country and its sovereign. If Aśvaghoṣa tried to refute it, he would violate public ethics, offend the reigning king present in the crowd, and bear the stigma of cursing his own land. But if he agreed with the statement, he could not break the argument, which meant instant defeat.

Aśvaghoṣa searched his mind, only to realize that his formidable logical framework was completely powerless against a statement rooted entirely in compassion, wisdom, and broad goodwill. Pale and humbled, he bowed deeply to the elder: “I have lost. Your wisdom is wrapped in profound compassion. I will honor my promise.” Pārśva had subdued Aśvaghoṣa’s pride not through heated argument, but through calm, unassailable composure. Aśvaghoṣa shaved his head on the spot and officially entered the Buddhist order.

Under the guidance of Pārśva and his successor Puṇyayaśas, Aśvaghoṣa displayed astonishing spiritual insight. He fully digested the Buddhist Canon (Tripitaka) and channeled his pre-existing artistic and literary talents into spreading the Dharma.

Monk reading a glowing scroll among four tearful horses in cathedral hall

The origin of his name—Aśvaghoṣa, literally meaning “Horse’s Neigh”—is tied to a celebrated event. When King Kaniṣka of the Kushan Empire conquered Central India, he demanded indemnity. Instead of vast fortunes of gold or silver, the King requested only two treasures: the sacred Alms Bowl of the Buddha, and Master Aśvaghoṣa.

To demonstrate the master’s sublime virtue to skeptical court officials, the King conducted a test. Seven warhorses were locked away and starved of food and water for six straight days. On the seventh day, a crowd gathered. Fresh, sweet grass was placed right in front of the starving horses, while Aśvaghoṣa took the high seat to chant and preach the Dharma.

An astonishing scene unfolded: despite their intense hunger, the seven horses did not even lower their heads to eat. Instead, they stood transfixed, listening intently to the serene, compassionate melody of Aśvaghoṣa’s voice, eventually shedding tears of emotion. Moved by how his sacred chants could touch even the animal realm, the world reverently honored him as Aśvaghoṣa Bodhisattva.

Following King Kaniṣka north, Aśvaghoṣa reached the peak of his creative energy. Understanding that rigid dogma rarely moves the hearts of ordinary people, he pioneered the use of literature and music as tools for spiritual education.

His greatest masterpiece, the Buddhacarita (Acts of the Buddha), is an epic narrative poem detailing the life of the Buddha from birth, renunciation, and enlightenment to his final Parinirvana. Characterized by elegant imagery and deep emotional resonance, it became a pinnacle of classical Sanskrit literature, introducing countless readers to the beauty of Buddhist philosophy. Furthermore, as the trusted spiritual mentor to King Kaniṣka, he played a central role in presiding over the Fourth Buddhist Council, solidifying the theoretical foundation of Mahayana Buddhism.

Aśvaghoṣa’s life is a timeless story of arrogance yielding to genuine wisdom. In his youth, he sought to conquer the world with sharp intellect, yet when confronted with true spiritual depth, he chose to surrender to compassion. By subduing his ego and dedicating his creative gifts to all living beings, he transformed from a defensive debater into a compassionate artist whose voice moved both human hearts and nature alike.

Reference Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A%C5%9Bvagho%E1%B9%A3a

Link:https://peacelilysite.com/2026/08/25/beyond-logic-how-compassion-subdued-ancient-indias-sharpest-mind/