After years of practice, we often believe we are walking the right path. We may even feel completely confident in our own “devotion.” Yet sometimes, in a single moment, a line of true Dharma strikes like thunder—and we suddenly realize that all along, we have only been practicing on the surface.
Recently, while listening to Fundamental Dharma Expounded in the East, Volume 8 by Namo Dorje Chang Buddha III, I was deeply shaken. In the teaching, a disciple shared her confusion: she was extremely respectful toward the Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, and her guru, yet her practice did not truly resonate, and she gained no real benefit. In particular, whenever she saw others showing disrespect or even slandering the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, her heart would fill with anger and aversion.
The Buddha’s teaching was like a clear mirror. It revealed not only her blind spot, but also something hidden deep within my own heart.
The Buddha compassionately taught that when facing the ignorance and slander of others, a practitioner should not give rise to anger, but to compassion.
When we see someone slandering the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas out of ignorance, we should think: “Because of her ignorance, she may fall into suffering. Her pain is also my responsibility.” This willingness to take others’ suffering as one’s own is the heart of a Bodhisattva.
Not only that—we should quietly pray for them, wishing that they awaken as soon as possible. We may even make this vow: “I must attain realization as quickly as I can, so I can help liberate her. Otherwise, how could she endure the suffering of lower realms?”
The Buddha gave the example of King Kali cutting the body. When Śākyamuni Buddha was subjected to extreme physical harm, there was not the slightest hatred in his heart. Instead, he vowed that after attaining Buddhahood, he would be the first to liberate that very person. This state—where there is no separation between self and others—is true great compassion, the genuine expression of the Four Immeasurables.
As I listened, I broke into a cold sweat. I was reminded of something that happened in 2025, when I returned to my hometown to visit family.
At a family gathering, my cousin’s husband was filled with anger. He had suffered a stroke and complained that he had never done anything bad in his life, yet had not been protected. My cousin, who has faith in Buddhism—perhaps more from a wish for protection—kept a statue of Guanyin at home. After recovering, he angrily threw the statue onto the ground.
In that moment, a surge of anger rose within me. I felt this was a serious insult to the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. I argued with him fiercely, my heart filled with resentment. I even thought to myself, “For someone like you, I will never dedicate blessings or prayers again.” After that, I have not contacted with them again.
What is more unsettling is that, at the time, I even felt a subtle sense of righteousness—as if I were “protecting the Dharma,” as if I were standing on principle.
Only after hearing this teaching did I truly see clearly: my anger was not for the sake of the Dharma—it came from my attachment to self.
To “protect the Dharma” without compassion is already to go astray.
The moment I gave rise to anger, refused to communicate, and gave up caring for them, I had already lost the four limitless states of mind. As the Buddha taught, if we turn away from someone, they are more likely to fall. What I thought was “holding my ground” was actually pushing away someone who needed help.
That was merely futile practice.
My mouth recited sutras and mantras, but my heart built a wall of resentment. Outwardly respectful, inwardly hardened—how could such practice bring any true benefit?
Worse still, it was faulty practice.
Facing others with anger creates no merit—it only accumulates karma.
This teaching helped me see the deepest blind spot in my practice.
I came to understand that the essence of practice is not how devout we appear on the outside, but this: when we encounter misunderstanding, slander, or ignorance, what arises in our heart—fire, or light?
Now, I feel both shame and gratitude. Shame for my ignorance and attachment, and deep gratitude for the Buddha’s teaching, which allowed me to turn back in time.
In my heart, I have quietly repented to my cousin’s husband. I have also begun again to pray for them, wishing that they may be free from suffering and awaken soon.
Practice is, in truth, a long process of “tearing down walls”—walls built from self-attachment, prejudice, and emotional reactions.
May we all, guided by the true Dharma, cleanse the dust from our hearts and cultivate a mind that is truly soft and vast—a heart that sees all beings as our own family.
Peace LiLy 