Category: Philosophy

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/

He Came to China as a Teacher. He Stayed to Give Abandoned Children a Home

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Tim Baker with one of the newly arrived orphans at the “children’s village” in Langfang, China.
Nancy Fraser

One American, One Yuan, and a Village Built on Compassion

Sometimes, a story comes along that quietly restores our faith in humanity.

The story of Tim Baker, an American who devoted much of his life to caring for abandoned and disabled children in China, is one of those stories.

He first came to China as a teacher.

But in 1991, while volunteering at a children’s welfare institution, he encountered children who had been abandoned because of illness or disability. He and his wife, Pam, eventually adopted several Chinese children themselves.

They could have stopped there.

Instead, they chose to do more.

In 1995, Tim left his teaching position and founded the Philip Hayden Foundation in memory of his friend Philip Hayden. What began as a small effort gradually grew into a much larger mission to provide medical care, a home, and hope for children who had nowhere else to go.

A Piece of Land for One Yuan

As more children came into their care, Tim and Pam dreamed of building a permanent home where the children could grow up with dignity, safety, and a sense of family.

In 2002, the local government in Dawang Guzhuang, Tianjin, offered land for the project at the symbolic price of one yuan per mu. Reports describe the land as roughly 30–33 mu. Tim was reportedly so surprised that he asked more than once whether they really meant one yuan.

That land eventually became Shepherd’s Field Children’s Village, or “牧羊地儿童村.”

The name itself is beautiful.

Before the children’s village was built, the land had been used by local villagers as a place to graze sheep.

A former pasture would become a home for children who had been abandoned.

And the story did not stop with the land.

People began to help.

Companies donated materials. Professionals offered their skills. Others provided equipment, construction support, and financial assistance. What one family had started slowly became a community of compassion.

From https://chinasource.org/articles/wendy-blazes-a-trail/
Photo from:http://cms.yalejy.com/mydtopic/index.html?video=06

Perhaps the most touching part of Tim’s story is not the buildings or the numbers.

It is the children.

Tim once described how children often arrived with the sadness of abandonment written on their faces. But after receiving care and affection, something began to change.

Their eyes began to shine.

That simple image says so much.

Sometimes a child does not need someone to change the whole world.

They need someone to stay.

Someone to hold them.

Someone to feed them.

Someone to take them to the doctor.

Someone to tell them, through actions rather than words:

“You matter. You are not forgotten.”

In Buddhism, compassion—慈悲 (cí bēi)—is much more than feeling sorry for someone who is suffering.

Compassion begins when we recognize another being’s suffering and allow that suffering to touch our heart.

But true compassion does not stop with feeling.

It moves us toward action.

We ask:

“What can I do to help?”

This is why compassion is so closely connected with loving-kindness, wisdom, and action in Buddhist practice.

We may not be able to remove all suffering from the world. But we can lessen suffering where we are.

We can offer food to someone who is hungry.

Comfort someone who is lonely.

Care for a sick person.

Protect an animal.

Forgive instead of causing more hurt.

Or simply remain beside someone who is going through a difficult time.

Compassion does not always require extraordinary ability.

Sometimes it requires only that we do not turn away.

Tim was American.

The children were Chinese.

Their languages, cultures, and backgrounds were different.

But when a child is suffering, these differences become very small.

A hungry child does not ask where you were born.

A frightened child does not ask what language you speak.

A child simply needs love.

That is why stories like this are so important.

Our world often reminds us of everything that separates people.

But compassion reminds us of something deeper:

We are human before we are anything else.

What makes this story even more beautiful is that Tim and Pam did not do everything alone.

Their compassion inspired other people to participate.

One person donated.

Another volunteered.

Someone else offered professional skills.

Another opened a door.

Little by little, many small acts of kindness became something much larger.

This is how goodness spreads.

One person lights a candle, and another person uses that light to light another.

We may not be able to build a children’s village.

We may not be able to care for thousands of children.

But we can still participate in this chain of kindness.

We can help a neighbor.

Visit someone who is lonely.

Donate what we can.

Volunteer our time.

Care for an abandoned animal.

Speak gently when anger would be easier.

Notice someone who needs help instead of walking past.

These acts may seem small.

But we never know how far kindness will travel.

When I read stories like Tim Baker’s, I am reminded that there is still enormous goodness in this world.

There are people who quietly give without asking for recognition.

We do not have to change the whole world to make the world a better place.

We can begin with one person.

One child.

One animal.

One neighbor.

One act of kindness.

And perhaps that small light will reach someone else—and inspire them to pass it on.

Love does not become smaller when we give it away.

It becomes larger.

Perhaps this is what true compassion looks like—not asking, “What can I gain?” but quietly asking, “What can I do?”

May the kindness we receive become the kindness we give.

May compassion cross every border.

And may each of us, in our own small way, become a light for someone else.

Link:https://peacelilysite.com/2026/09/20/he-came-to-china-as-a-teacher-he-stayed-to-give-abandoned-children-a-home/

Source: https://chinasource.org/articles/wendy-blazes-a-trail/, https://www.npr.org/2003/09/11/1427329/a-village-for-chinese-orphans

There Is No Generation Gap—Am I the North Wind or the Sun?

linda changLeave a comment

I Chose to Be the Sun—and My Relationship With My Father Changed

There is a saying that has stayed with me:

“If you have never experienced what others have gone through, do not be quick to judge their faults. If you have never endured their suffering, do not be quick to tell them how they should behave. If you had suffered what I have suffered, you might not have done any better than I did.”

It sounds like such a simple truth. Yet for many years, I failed to truly understand it.

Growing up, my father was strict and authoritative. My relationship with my mother was completely different—we were close, comfortable, and deeply connected.

As I grew older, conflicts between my parents became more frequent. I instinctively took my mother’s side and rarely tried to understand my father’s perspective. Over time, my judgments about him became deeply rooted.

Even when I became seriously ill and my father cared for me tirelessly, without complaint, I still struggled to let go of my resentment. I continued to hold on to painful memories of the arguments between my parents.

I was looking at my father through the lens of the past.

After my mother passed away, my father was overwhelmed with grief. Yet he tried to remain strong for me, knowing that talking about my mother might make me sad.

Suddenly, there were only the two of us.

When we went for walks together, my father often talked about things that had happened many years ago. Instead of recognizing the loneliness behind his words, I became impatient. I corrected him, contradicted him, and sometimes lost my temper.

Eventually, he quietly said something that touched me deeply:

“If you don’t like talking to me, at least don’t lose your temper with me.”

His words made me stop and look at myself.

One day, I suddenly saw my own behavior clearly.

I realized that I had been holding on to the painful history of my parents’ marriage and using it to justify my inability to understand my father.

But how could I possibly know all the causes and conditions behind their relationship? How could I know everything my father had experienced, feared, endured, or carried silently in his heart?

I began asking myself a different question:

Instead of waiting for someone else to change, can I change myself first?

I decided that I could.

I wanted to become a more patient and understanding daughter. I wanted to listen instead of judge, to let go instead of cling to the past, and to practice filial love through my everyday actions.

I remembered Aesop’s fable The North Wind and the Sun. The North Wind tried to force a traveler to remove his coat, but the Sun simply warmed him, and eventually the traveler took it off himself.

I decided that I wanted to be the sun.

Little by little, something changed.

When I was away from home, I began calling my father at the same time each day just to check on him. When I was with him, I made a conscious effort to sit down, listen, and talk rather than hurry away.

I did not change him.

I changed myself.

And as I changed, our relationship changed too.

The coldness between us gradually softened. The two people who had once struggled to communicate began sharing a much more peaceful and harmonious life.

Looking back, I realize that sometimes the distance between two people is not created by a lack of love. Sometimes it is created by old judgments, unresolved attachments, and our unwillingness to see beyond our own version of the past.

This transformation came through sincerely learning and practicing Buddhism, and through receiving guidance from the Dharma discourses of Namo H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III.

I came to understand more deeply that Buddha Dharma is not separate from ordinary life. It is practiced in the way we speak to our parents, how we respond when someone frustrates us, and whether we can recognize our own faults before pointing out the faults of others.

We often wish that other people would become more patient, more understanding, or more compassionate.

But perhaps the first question should be:

Have I become the person I am asking others to be?

Every person carries a story we may never fully know. Before judging someone, perhaps we should remember that we have not walked in their shoes.

There may be painful knots in our relationships that seem impossible to untie. But sometimes the first knot begins to loosen when we stop asking, “Why doesn’t this person change?”

And instead ask:

“What can I change in myself?”

Sometimes, one small change in ourselves can bring warmth into an entire relationship.

And sometimes, becoming the sun is enough.

Link: https://myhappylifestyle.net/2026/09/08/there-is-no-generation-gap-am-i-the-north-wind-or-the-sun/

#DorjeChangBuddhaIII #Spirituality #Buddha #Buddhism

He Lost His Father at 8. What a 109-Year-Old Doctor Taught Us About Life

linda changLeave a comment
Charlie White was retired in 1997 when this photo was taken, but he still practiced medicine a bit, flying to Haiti on a medical mission. “It’s a doctor’s fundamental dedication to take care of people whether we get paid or not,” he told The Star at the time. Jeff Roberson The Kansas City Star


The remarkable story of Dr. Charlie White and the courage to keep moving forward

What does it take to live well—not simply to live a long life, but to remain hopeful, curious, and strong through difficult times?

Dr. Charlie White lived to be 109 years old. He experienced more than a century of enormous changes, but what fascinates me most about his life is not his age. It is how he faced adversity.

When Charlie was only eight years old, his father died suddenly in a tragic elevator accident. His father was just 42. Charlie’s mother was left a widow with five children and no job or obvious means of support. Charlie’s mother turned their home into a boardinghouse to make ends meet. She expected her children to help and gradually taught them to become independent and responsible for their own lives. Charlie later remembered that his mother had essentially put “the responsibility of life” on them. Because she believed they could manage, they learned to believe in themselves.

Something else important happened during those difficult years. Among the people who stayed in their home were medical missionaries. Meeting them helped inspire Charlie to become a doctor.

He did not allow the loss of his father to become the definition of his life.

Instead, he continued his education, entered medicine, and eventually built not one but two medical careers. He lived through the Great Depression, two world wars, enormous changes in medicine, personal losses, and many other challenges.

What strikes me most about Charlie’s story is that resilience did not mean that life stopped hurting. It meant that he continued to participate in life after the hurt.

He learned to adapt.

When medicine changed, he changed with it. When opportunities were lost, he looked for new ones. When he made mistakes, he did not seem to spend his life regretting them. He remained curious about what could come next. His biographer, David Von Drehle, described him not simply as a survivor, but as someone who learned how to thrive through change.

Sometimes we misunderstand resilience.

Being resilient does not mean that we never feel sad, afraid, or discouraged. It means that pain does not have to become the end of our story.

We may lose someone we love.

We may fail.

Our plans may suddenly change.

Someone may disappoint us.

Life may take us in a direction we never expected.

We cannot always choose the circumstances. But we can ask:

What can I do now?

That simple question can give us the strength to take the next step.

Adaptability Is a Form of Wisdom

Charlie lived through a world that changed almost beyond recognition.

Yet he continued to learn and adapt.

This is something we all need today.

The world changes quickly. Technology changes. Our circumstances change. Our bodies change. Relationships change. Sometimes even our dreams change.

Adaptability does not mean abandoning our values.

It means learning how to carry our values into new circumstances.

We can remain kind while adapting.

We can remain honest while adapting.

We can remain hopeful while adapting.

Charlie lived for 109 years, but longevity itself was not his greatest lesson.

A meaningful life is not measured only by the number of years we receive.

It is measured by how we use those years.

Can we continue learning?

Can we forgive?

Can we help others?

Can we remain curious?

Can we appreciate what we have?

Can we face uncertainty without giving up hope?

Charlie understood that life would never be perfect. Yet he continued to meet it with optimism and openness.

Perhaps that is why his story speaks to me.

When something painful happens, we can allow ourselves to grieve—but still move forward.

When circumstances change, we can adapt without losing ourselves.

Braided warrior with sword and lantern overlooking ruins beneath storm clouds; text: "None of us knows what the next chapter of life will bring. But we can choose how we meet it."

When we make mistakes, we can learn rather than remain trapped in regret.

When tomorrow is uncertain, we can still choose hope.

Dr. Charlie White could not choose what happened to him when he was eight years old.

But he could choose what he did with the life that followed.

And perhaps that is the deepest lesson of his 109 years:

We cannot always choose what happens to us.
But we can choose how we meet what happens.

Sometimes, that choice becomes the beginning of our greatest strength.

Link:https://peacelilysite.com/2026/09/16/he-lost-his-father-at-8-what-a-109-year-old-doctor-taught-us-about-life/

Source: https://www.kansascity.com/news/local/article275107916.html

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

When I Came to Understand the Pain Deep Within My Mother’s Heart

linda changLeave a comment

Through participating in group study, respectfully and deeply listening to the Dharma discourses expounded by my Buddha Master, Namo H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III, and sharing what I had learned with others, I gradually came to understand and feel the pain deep within my mother’s heart.

For as long as I can remember, my parents were constantly arguing. During holidays and festivals in particular, our home would become filled with tension. After an argument, my mother would always wear a stern expression and remain silent, while my father would sigh repeatedly, not knowing what to do.

After encountering the Tathagata’s True Dharma taught by H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III, I wanted to resolve a question that had puzzled me for a long time: My mother had everything she needed in terms of food and clothing and was free from serious illness or misfortune, so why did she complain every day? She would either say that my father did not treat her well or feel that my younger brother and his wife did not treat her well. She would become so upset that she sometimes could not sleep all night.

My mother cared greatly about maintaining appearances, even when doing so caused her hardship. She especially doted on my younger brother, whom she treasured dearly. To ensure that he could hold his head high in front of his wife’s family, my mother used almost all of her savings to buy them a home and a garage.

Whenever there was an important occasion or even a smaller matter involving my sister-in-law’s family, my mother always handled everything generously and properly. She would rather live frugally herself than allow my brother to lose face.

Yet despite all she had done, my brother seldom contacted her. Although they lived in the same city, he rarely checked in on her, much less came to see her. I could feel how deeply my mother missed her son. She would often ask me, “I wonder what your brother has been so busy with lately?”

To tell the truth, seeing my mother like this made my heart ache, and I also felt deeply concerned about my inability to help her. How I wished she could learn the true Dharma of the Tathagata with me! After all, it was through learning the true Dharma of H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III and developing right understanding and right views that I myself had been able to free myself from the suffering caused by my divorce.

Having personally experienced the benefits of learning Buddhism and cultivating myself, I tried to persuade my mother not to dwell on the things that troubled her. I explained to her that these circumstances were the result of causes, conditions, and karmic forces planted in the past. But she did not agree with what I told her.

To avoid upsetting my mother, I tried to take care of nearly all the household chores myself so that she would have to do as little as possible for my single-parent household. Yet strangely, the more responsibilities I took upon myself, the more upset she seemed to become. No matter what I did, I could not seem to make her happy.

Back then, I lived very cautiously around her, afraid that something I said or did might cause her to become upset and silently resentful. I also tried communicating with her, but she would often remain silent and keep everything bottled up inside.

Through respectfully studying Expounding the Absolute Truth Through the Heart Sutra, I brought forth right mindfulness and finally came to understand how I should correctly practice the Four Immeasurables of loving-kindness, compassion, empathetic joy, and equanimity. I first needed to begin with equanimity and selfless giving—to be willing to devote my time to considering the needs of my family. Caring for them was not merely about making sure they had enough food, warm clothing, and money to spend. I also needed to learn to recognize and understand the suffering within their hearts.

I began to sincerely spend time with my mother, and gradually I discovered that the ice within her heart was beginning to melt. Instead of telling her, “Don’t be angry anymore” or “Don’t hold on to resentment,” I began placing the responsibility upon myself: I needed to understand the pain within my mother’s heart, listen to what her heart was trying to tell me, help heal her emotional wounds, and help her establish right understanding and right views.

When my mother complained, I became willing to set aside my time and sit quietly beside her, listening attentively. I no longer used the principle of “cause and effect” to argue with her until she had nothing left to say.

When she felt physically tired, I would take the time to massage the acupressure points on her feet and ask her whether the pressure was too light or too strong. When she felt bored, I would willingly spend time with her and chat about everyday family matters instead of lecturing her about principles and doctrines.

The more I tried to understand the pain in my mother’s heart, the more she began saying things like, “Don’t waste your time on me. I don’t need you to keep me company. Go take care of the children. Once you’ve taken care of everything for them, go do whatever you need to do.”

What surprised and delighted me even more was that my mother eventually began reminding me herself, “It’s almost time for your Buddhist group study. Don’t forget to join the meeting. I’ll help you look after the children.”

I had finally gained my mother’s support. And it happened simply because I had learned to recognize the pain within her heart and was willing to devote my time to sincerely being there for her.

This is exactly what the H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III teaches in the Dharma discourses: we must put our cultivation into actual practice and cultivate ourselves with respect to the three karmas of body, speech, and mind. We must be sincere in our words and actions and in the way we interact with and treat others. Only by putting genuine effort into our conduct in everyday life can we truly touch the hearts of others.

Contributed by: Ji Cheng / Kui Xing

Link: https://myhappylifestyle.net/2026/09/06/dorjechangbuddhaiii-when-i-came-to-understand-the-pain-deep-within-my-mothers-heart/

How Did an Elderly Woman Who Had Been Hearing-Impaired for Years Regain Her Hearing?

linda changLeave a comment
How Did an Elderly Woman Who Had Been Hearing-Impaired for Years Regain Her Hearing?

This is yet another real-life example involving one of my relatives who experienced blessings through the Buddha Dharma.

Over the years that I have been learning the Buddha Dharma, I have introduced quite a few people to Buddhism. Regrettably, perhaps because my own cultivation has not been good enough, none of them ultimately continued. Yet there was always one wish in my heart: I wanted to bring my mother-in-law to listen to the Dharma.

I knew that she was sincere and genuine in the way she treated others. Although she had little formal education and was hearing-impaired, I felt certain that she might actually learn better than I did. However, because she was elderly and physically frail, and because the journey was rather long and transportation inconvenient, I kept the thought to myself for quite some time and did not dare bring it up with her.

In April 2025, after we had finished a life-release activity, I finally decided to ask her.

“Mom, it’s still early today. Why don’t you come with me to listen to the Dharma discourses of Namo H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III?”

Afraid that she might refuse, I added, “Mom, the matter of birth and death is of the utmost importance, and impermanence comes swiftly. You are already in your seventies. You should quickly begin learning the true Tathagata Dharma and listening to the Dharma discourses of H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III so that you can attain liberation from birth and death in this lifetime. You are such a kindhearted person. I’m sure you will learn even better than I do.”

After hearing this, she agreed, and we went to the Buddhist altar room in my home to respectfully listen to a Dharma discourse.

After she returned home, she called me and said that she could not understand it and wondered whether she should stop going. Perhaps because she was family, I spoke to her rather directly. Raising my voice so that she could hear me, I said, “Mom, if you don’t understand it now, you can learn gradually. There are many things I don’t understand either. But think about how much suffering there is in life. If we do not learn Buddhism, we will suffer even more as we continue to reincarnate within the six realms. The opportunity to encounter a Buddha in this world is exceedingly rare. Only by learning the true Tathagata Dharma taught by H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III can we have hope of attaining accomplishment and liberation in this lifetime. Learning Buddhism requires a sincere heart and perseverance.”

Seeing that I was unhappy, she reluctantly replied, “All right, then.”

When she agreed to continue coming to listen to the Dharma, I was overjoyed. I thought it might be better to first show her videos about the true Buddha Dharma. They presented many extraordinary and inconceivable manifestations of the Buddha Dharma, which I hoped would strengthen her faith.

Sure enough, the videos sparked her interest. I then began having her listen to Dharma discourses, starting with the first lesson, The Unsurpassable, Supreme Dharma.

From then on, regardless of bitter cold, scorching heat, wind, or rain, she faithfully made the trip to my home every day, relying on others for transportation so that she could listen to the Dharma.  Later, I also brought her to our Dharma center to participate in group study and practice so that she could experience the atmosphere of learning Buddhism together with others.

She increasingly came to appreciate how wonderful and extraordinary learning Buddhism was. She has continued steadfastly ever since and has never again thought about giving up. She often feels filled with Dharma joy.

Although she has little formal education and is not very good at sharing her thoughts, she often expresses her feelings in her own simple and heartfelt way:

“Oh, what is being taught is truly wonderful!”

Her Hearing Recovered After More Than a Year of Learning the True Buddha Dharma

After persevering in respectfully listening to the Dharma discourses of H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III for more than a year, she began experiencing significant changes in her physical condition.

At first, some of her hair began turning black again. Then the pain in her legs disappeared, and she became much more agile when walking.

Most astonishing of all was the change in her hearing. Because her hearing had been very poor for many years, she had always needed to wear hearing aids. One day in early July of this year, she told me that a large amount of pus had suddenly drained from her ear. I wondered whether this might be a response associated with receiving blessings.

I said to her, “Mom, you are so sincere and devout. Every day you travel such a long distance to come here and listen to the Dharma. The Buddhas and Bodhisattvas will surely bless you.”

Then, this morning, I received a phone call from her. In an excited voice, she told me:

“My ear is better! I can hear sounds even without my hearing aid now. This is wonderful! This is wonderful!”

I was so happy for her. For someone who had suffered severe hearing loss for so many years, being able to hear again without a hearing aid undoubtedly felt like being given a new life.

I said, “Mom, this is all due to the compassionate blessings of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. The sincerity you have devoted to learning the Dharma has touched the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. The Buddha Dharma is truly magnificent and inconceivable!”

The changes she experienced have also strengthened my own confidence and determination to learn and practice the Buddha Dharma well.

When I reflect upon myself, I realize that I have sometimes allowed myself to become entangled in family matters and have not been nearly as diligent as she has. The Buddha Dharma is so real and true, and the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas are so greatly compassionate. What, then, is there that I cannot let go of?

Author: Cili

Learn more about H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III

Link: https://hhdorjechangbuddhaiiidharma.com/2026/09/06/how-did-an-elderly-woman-who-had-been-hearing-impaired-for-years-regain-her-hearing/

#DorjeChangBuddhaIII #MasterWanKoYee #BuddhaDharma #BuddhistTeachings #DharmaDiscourses #BuddhistBlessings #LearningBuddhism #HearingRecovery #BuddhistTestimony #TrueBuddhaDharma

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/