A Bowl of Life: From Vanity to the Pure Land

This is a record of an interview with Tao Li, a spirit who sought deliverance at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre in Australia. He now resides in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. This account reflects upon his life approximately 1,400 years ago. Recorded by the chief writer, Shi Fajing, on August 20, 2019.

Tao Li speaks:

"Namo Amituofo. I am Tao Li. My father took great pride in his ceramic creations. They were truly unique in our entire town—whether it was cups, bowls, plates, or decorative ornaments, every piece was designed with exquisite beauty. My mother often told me that my father had loved crafting things with his own hands since he was a child. His mind was incredibly agile in that regard, which allowed him to conceive such a vast array of intricate shapes and designs.

The Price of Luxury

The works my father produced commanded high prices, and only the wealthy could afford them. For the poor, these were nothing more than extravagant luxuries. I remember someone once saying, 'We are so poor we barely have rice to eat; why should we care whether a bowl looks beautiful or not? If a broken bowl can hold a full serving of rice, we are satisfied!'

The wealthy have the means to improve their quality of life, which allows them to display their taste and status. For poorer families, the only concern is having enough to eat for three meals a day; they do not care whether they eat from a plate or a bowl. Every time I witnessed this disparity, I felt a deep stirring in my heart: 'We are all human beings, so why is there such a vast difference?'

Our family was moderately well-off—not extremely wealthy, but certainly not living in poverty. My mother gave birth to five of us children, and my parents often took us out to play. We lived a very happy and joyful life from childhood, and in our town, we were considered a blissful family that everyone envied.

A Father's Changing Heart

However, when I was about fourteen, my father began to change. Because of his work, he met many wealthy people who were regular customers at his shop. He seemed fascinated by their upper-class lifestyle. I often heard him chatting with these guests, learning about their leisure activities and daily routines. Whenever he listened to these wealthy people share how they enjoyed their lives, a look of intense longing would appear on his face, as if he desperately wanted to live that same opulent life. Seeing this expression, I was filled with confusion and doubt: 'Our life is already very good; why would my father react this way?'

Gradually, I began to see my father wearing expensive accessories, and even his clothes were brand new, made from the finest fabrics. I said to my mother, 'Mother, Father’s attire has been quite different lately.' She replied, 'Yes, ever since your father opened that shop and met those wealthy people, he has become very vain. It is not just his dress that has changed; even the food he eats consists of carefully selected, expensive ingredients.' I looked at my father's back; he was a completely different person from the father who used to play with me as a child. He felt like a stranger. I dared not tell my mother that I actually disliked this version of my father, but I kept it to myself. No matter how he changed, he was still my father; how could I say whether I liked him or not?

The Burden of Pretence

In the days that followed, my father often took us to attend various upper-class gatherings. Although we were dressed well enough to fit the occasion, my siblings and I felt incredibly stiff in every movement. Everyone there held cups that were meticulously designed—some were said to be the very cups used when meeting the Emperor. The bowls and chopsticks were heavier than what we used at home, and the texture was entirely different. Even the tables and chairs were custom-made. Everything there felt completely out of place for us; we were like ugly ducklings suddenly thrust into a pond of swans.

When we finally endured the gathering and sat in the carriage my father had prepared, we collapsed into our seats, exhaling a huge sigh of relief. We immediately loosened our waistbands and discarded our various accessories. Suddenly, I felt my whole body relax, as if my blood had finally begun to circulate freely. My father asked us, 'Did you enjoy it?' My siblings and I looked at each other; no one dared to speak. As the eldest, I had to answer for them: 'We are not yet accustomed to such occasions; we feel a bit constrained and uncomfortable.' My father smiled and said, 'That is only natural. This is your first time attending, so of course you are not used to it. You will become familiar with it after coming a few more times. I will bring you often in the future.' I did not know how to respond, so I remained silent.

The Reality of Poverty

I had a very close friend named Tianluo. We grew up playing together, and our bond was very strong. Tianluo’s family was quite poor; he had lost his mother at a young age and lived solely with his father. I called his father 'Uncle.' Uncle grew some vegetables in their small courtyard and relied on selling them to make a living. Sometimes, when the weather was unkind and it rained for days, the vegetables would rot. At other times, when there was no rain for months in our water-scarce town, the vegetables would wither and turn yellow. Although Uncle only had one child to raise, this unstable life could not provide Tianluo with a secure future.

I once asked Tianluo, 'Is your heart at peace?' Tianluo replied, 'My father suffers from an illness. If he is not careful, it flares up, and in severe cases, he might faint. I often worry that he might have an accident, so I beg him not to work outside and just grow vegetables at home. Sometimes, when we truly have nothing to eat, I go to our neighbor, Mrs. Lin, and beg her to spare us some food. Every time she sees me, she is very happy to bring out food from her home. Sometimes she gives me too much, and I tell her it is not necessary, but Mrs. Lin is so warm-hearted; she always wants to share the good things in her home with us. You ask if I am anxious? My heart is very anxious. I do not care how many meals we eat a day; I can endure hunger, but I worry that my father might leave me at any moment.' Uncle was indeed very important to Tianluo, as he was his only support. Seeing Tianluo’s life of hardship, my heart ached for him. I once brought them some food, and when Tianluo brought out his bowls to hold it, I was shocked. They looked like they had been used for a very long time; some were cracked, and some had chipped edges. Tianluo told me they were discarded items that people had thrown away, which his father had picked up to use. Even so, Tianluo and his father cherished them and could not bear to throw them away.

The Bowl as a Metaphor for Life

I laid out all the bowls my father had collected, arranging them from the lowest quality to the highest, in a long line. From left to right, it represented the spectrum from lowly to wealthy. What is a perfect life? What is an imperfect life? Although these are just bowls, they are actually individual lives. Some people’s lives are painted with intricate patterns—these are the designs they deliberately added themselves, like a youth chasing the wind. They pursue their dreams, adding many different patterns and colors to their lives. Some people live in poverty their whole lives, but their bowls are not necessarily worn out, because their hearts know how to be content and grateful; thus, their bowls appear particularly complete, just as they cherish their lives and find joy in contentment. Some people’s bowls are full of chips; even though they live in wealth, they are full of complaints and dissatisfaction. Their lives are filled with sorrow and anger, constantly fighting and competing with others. Not only are their bowls chipped, but they also have many cracks caused by their own hatred. Various lives, described by these colorful and diverse bowls—it seems quite fitting. I looked at these bowls and wondered: what kind of life do I want to lead? And what kind of life is my father pursuing now?

One day, I accompanied my mother to the market. When I walked past a shop selling bowls, I stopped. This shop was like my father’s, also selling bowls, but compared to his, the prices were much lower. These were simple, sturdy bowls that ordinary families could afford. My gaze was deeply drawn to one bowl on the shelf, and I stared at it intently. My mother had already walked three or four steps ahead, and noticing I had not followed, she turned back and asked, 'What are you looking at?' I replied, 'Mother, look at that bowl in the middle. Isn't it beautiful?' My mother looked in the direction I was pointing and said, 'Isn't it just an ordinary bowl?' I told her, 'No, Mother, look at this bowl. Its color is pure white, without a single flaw, shining with a brilliant luster. This is it—my life should be like this bowl: pure, clean, and translucent. Look at the price; it is not an expensive luxury item, but a price that ordinary families can afford. My life should be lived this simply, without flashy decorations, and without needing great wealth to highlight my status, yet still living out the highest value of life.' My mother nodded vigorously and said, 'Indeed! Indeed, life should be like this. I agree with everything you said, and I hope you can live such a simple, plain, yet magnificent life.' Just as I was about to take out money to buy the bowl, I put it back in my pocket. I thought, I do not want to keep this bowl for myself; I hope more people can see its beauty, and I even hope that everyone’s heart can be as pure and translucent as this bowl.

A Fragile Existence

Back home, I enthusiastically wanted to help my mother wash the dishes. My hand slipped, and I dropped a bowl, breaking it on the floor. I immediately bent down to pick up the shards, but I was cut by a fragment, and blood immediately flowed from my finger. Although the wound was small, it throbbed with pain. Looking at this small wound, I realized how fragile my physical body was. Is my life also like this? No, my life should be strong and resilient; how could I let a small wound shake my entire being? I let go of the pain and continued with what I had to do.

As for my father, in order to pursue a luxurious life, he spent all the money he earned each month on indulgence. He even spent a large sum of money to replace all the furniture, decorations, and various ornaments in our home, decorating it to look as magnificent as a wealthy household. Although I did not approve of my father’s actions, this was money he had earned himself, and my mother had no say in the matter; she could only watch helplessly as he spent it again and again. Our home became completely different from before. Although the house was expanded and became large and luxurious, it could no longer return to the warm home it once was. A chasm appeared between my father and us. Even though we still lived together every day, our hearts were no longer as close as they used to be. Many of our life habits and life philosophies had changed. We often heard arguments between my father and mother, because my mother sometimes could not help but tell him her thoughts, hoping he would stop living such an indulgent life and spending all the family’s money. However, whenever my mother said this, my father felt unappreciated and criticized, and he would instantly fly into a rage, shouting at her and making threats. Several times, I heard him disparage my mother, calling her an old, withered woman whom no one wanted, and even threatening that if she opposed his actions again, he would take several concubines into the house. Hearing this, my mother would lock herself in her room and weep bitterly. I did not know why my father had become such a different person. With the change in his temperament, the atmosphere in our home became increasingly different.

The Hidden Poison

When I was sixteen, a major change occurred in our family. At first, we did not notice anything unusual about my father, until several months later, when we saw that his appearance and mental state had changed significantly, though we did not know why. My mother felt something was amiss! My father’s behavior was always secretive, and he often gathered with his upper-class friends, even hiring workers to look after the shop while he rarely appeared there himself. One day, while I was out buying items for my mother, I inadvertently saw my father and his friends entering a house together. I immediately went up to investigate. Peering through a crack in the window, I saw my father ingest a foreign substance. A moment later, he began to look delirious, his expression appearing incredibly relaxed and happy. At that moment, my heart felt as heavy as a boulder; I could already guess that my father was likely taking drugs. Seeing the amount he consumed, it was clear this had not been going on for just a day or two.

I dragged my heavy feet home, not knowing how to tell my mother. But seeing her suspicious every day, I knew that if I did not speak clearly, she would remain anxious and unable to find peace. The walk home today felt like it took a long time. When I reached the front door, I lifted my heavy legs over the threshold and saw my mother sitting in the hall, waiting for me. I held the basket and walked toward the hall step by step. As soon as she saw me, she asked nervously, 'Why are you so pale? What happened?' I looked troubled, not knowing how to begin. Seeing her nervous expression, I had no choice but to tell her the truth. After hearing it, my mother’s expression did not change. I was surprised by her reaction and asked her what was going on. She said, 'I found out a few days ago. That day, while cleaning the room, I found some strange medicine in your father’s cabinet. I took it to a pharmacy and asked, only to learn that it was a toxic drug. Users become addicted, lose their senses, and cannot control themselves. I did not know if I should tell you, so I endured it for many days without speaking, but I was always worried about your father, not knowing what to do.' As she spoke, she began to cry. I hurriedly comforted her, but my own mind was in complete turmoil.

The Path to Deliverance

My mother and I discussed it and decided that after we found the best way to approach him, we would raise the issue with my father, hoping he would quit his addiction and stop taking these drugs that were harming his wealth and health. Who would have thought that one day, during a heated argument with my father, my mother would blurt it out in a moment of agitation? Only then did my father realize his secret had been exposed. He became ashamed and angry, and he physically assaulted my mother. She wept in pain, and my father stormed out of the house in a rage. I immediately went into the room and saw my mother trembling and crying beside the table. I called out, 'Mother!' She slowly looked up at me, and I saw her face was bruised and covered in tear-stained wounds.

After this violent argument, we did not mention it to my father again, but seeing him grow thinner day by day and his spirit becoming increasingly listless, I was deeply worried. I still held a glimmer of hope that my father would turn back—that he would find the shore of repentance. For the sake of his health and life, I began searching everywhere, hoping to find a way to help him break his addiction. At first, my father was furious at my attempts to make him quit; he not only rejected me but even beat me severely. However, a few months later, his body began to show critical symptoms, and he nearly lost his life several times. My father was terrified of death, because his original purpose in taking the drugs was to live a long life. Who would have thought that this method was utter nonsense? Not only did it fail to extend his life, but it nearly cost him his life entirely. When my father realized the gravity of the situation, he finally began to adopt the methods I suggested, but none of them worked. I was even more anxious than my father, because looking at his complexion, I knew he did not have much time left.

The Buddha’s Compassion

One day, I heard someone on the road say, 'The Buddha’s teachings can cure all illnesses.' I immediately went up to ask and learned that an old monk in a temple could help people with their suffering. I quickened my pace toward the mountain temple, hoping to find a way to save my father.

The old monk was preaching the sutras to the people. I stood to the side, waiting patiently, and listened along with them. At first, I was just listening casually, but after a sentence or two, joy arose in my heart. I realized that the Buddha’s teachings were such a magnificent method. I then continued to listen attentively, keeping the old monk’s words firmly in my heart. When I sat before the old monk, my heart had already calmed down significantly. It was the Buddha’s teachings that gave me confidence; it was the Buddha who brought peace to my heart. The old monk said, 'Just now, I saw your mind was scattered, your eyes were filled with panic, agitation, and unease, and your face showed fear, your emotions difficult to settle. Now, you are much more stable, and a hint of radiance has appeared on your face.' I told the old monk, 'It was your teaching that stirred my heart. I realize that the true Dharma I have been searching for is right here. The Buddha is not to be sought far away; he is within one’s own heart.' The old monk smiled and said, 'The Buddha is not far; the Buddha is in the hearts of all. When you have the Buddha in your heart, how could the Buddha ever leave you? If your heart is not at peace, chant the Buddha’s name. With the Buddha’s name continuous and unbroken, how could there be any afflictions to trouble your heart?' I nodded repeatedly, 'Yes, yes, it is indeed so.' At this moment, I thought of my father’s situation and hurriedly asked the old monk, 'My father is addicted; is there a way to solve it?' The old monk nodded, 'It can be solved, it can be solved. The Buddha can cure all illnesses; what illness cannot be cured? But tell me, do you believe in the Buddha?' I immediately nodded, 'I believe! I believe without doubt.' The old monk asked again, 'Does your father believe in the Buddha?' I shook my head, 'My father does not know the Buddha.' The old monk said, 'Tell your father why you believe in the Buddha.'

Rebirth in the Western Pure Land

When I returned home, I told my father what I had heard at the temple. He lay on the bed, closing his eyes to rest, listening to every word I said. When I finished, he opened his eyes slightly and said in a weak voice, 'Can you invite the old monk to treat my illness?' Hearing him say this, I was overjoyed. I immediately carried my father on my back and ran toward the temple.

Along the way, I was panting for breath, but I could not bear to stop, fearing I would delay the time to save him. Sweat poured down like rain from my forehead. Carrying my father, I had no hands to wipe the sweat, so I let it drip onto the ground along the way. When we finally reached the temple, the old monk was already standing at the mountain gate waiting for us. My father sat before the old monk, having no strength left to speak. The old monk asked my father, 'Do you believe in the Buddha now?' My father nodded. The old monk then spent some time introducing the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss to my father, describing its magnificence and dignity in a way that made one long for it. Then, the old monk asked my father, 'Do you wish to go to the Western Pure Land?' My father nodded vigorously. The monk said, 'Then chant the Buddha’s name! Chant once, ten times, a hundred times—every thought is the Buddha, every thought is the Western Pure Land. Do not have any delusions or messy thoughts; just have this one phrase: Namo Amituofo.' My father smiled and nodded. He followed the old monk’s method, chanting continuously, each phrase clearly in his heart. I also chanted along with my father, keeping the Buddha’s name continuous and dense. Suddenly, the old monk put his hands together and said, 'The Buddha has arrived. I am grateful for the Buddha’s compassion in leading him. Your father has already reached the Western Land. Namo Amituofo.' I was moved to tears, kneeling on the ground, kowtowing to the Buddha, and thanking the old monk incessantly. The old monk asked me, 'Do you believe in the Buddha now? The Buddha truly can cure all illnesses. After your father reaches the Western Pure Land, he will be free from illness and suffering, and will be happy beyond measure.' I replied to the old monk, 'I believe! I believe! I absolutely believe!'

My father’s rebirth in the Western Pure Land was truly hard to believe, but it was real and not false. It was because, before he passed, he had already come to know the Western Pure Land and understood that only by being reborn there could he escape the six realms of existence. Therefore, he believed in the Buddha sincerely and chanted the Buddha’s name without stopping. Finally, he received the Buddha’s guidance and was able to be reborn while carrying his karma. This news spread back to my hometown, and I vigorously promoted the Buddha’s teachings, wishing for the people of my hometown to be far from the suffering of the dust and attain liberation through the Dharma. At the age of thirty, my mother also passed away and met my father in the Western Pure Land. My siblings and I were all joyful. Heaven does not let down those who work hard; my father finally fulfilled his wish for eternal life, and my mother no longer had to suffer for love.

The Value of Life

Life, oh life—while we have this body, desires are hard to stop. What we pursue in a lifetime is nothing more than satisfying the desires in our hearts. To satisfy these desires, thoughts, delusions, and afflictions arise, filling our minds and obscuring our clarity, creating karma endlessly. Life is short; why torture oneself like this? If one could hear just one phrase of the Buddha’s teachings, one would know that desires are false, the world is false, and even this body is false. To pay such a high price for this false body—what a fool!

I vowed to become a monk, to teach the Dharma and help people break through delusion and attain enlightenment. Practicing in the temple, I constantly purified my heart, until my heart was unmoving, without thoughts, always fixed on the Buddha, radiating light. When I suddenly awakened, it was time to save sentient beings widely, traveling everywhere to preach the Dharma and benefit all beings. Regardless of whether their good roots were shallow or deep, as long as they could hear the Buddha’s teachings, they could all be reborn in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss.

In this life, the bowl of my life, although it weathered many storms, finally returned to its pure, bright, and translucent state—simple, ordinary, yet dazzling, living out the highest value of life, returning forever to the Western Land. I am grateful for the Buddha’s compassion.

Empty form arises naturally; without thoughts, it is self-purifying. Practitioner Su’s heart is compassionate toward all suffering, dedicated entirely to beings without self. His heart is like the vast void, able to contain all beings, and is also empty. In this world, without love or attachment, he stays only to compassionately save beings, continuing to use this body to rescue all from suffering.

Many years ago, Practitioner Su already recovered his true self, found his Dharma Body, and continuously broke through layers of space. To this day, he has reached beyond the universe, widely transforming all spirits in the dense spaces of the universe. It is his profound vow, constantly breaking through the tests of hardship, that has made his body more purified and compassionate, his mind-capacity more expansive, and his ability to save beings in deeper and wider spaces more complete. His merits and causal conditions are all perfectly fulfilled, allowing him to save countless sentient beings.

Practitioner Su is like the Buddha; he is a true practitioner who has attained a heart identical to the Buddha’s—the same vows, the same heart as the Buddha, with no difference, only concerned with the suffering of sentient beings. Now, the causal conditions are magnificent, and the great Dharma is about to unfold. Many necessary tests will follow one after another, and Practitioner Su is able to be without mind and without self, breaking through and progressing one by one. It is because he truly moves forward for the sake of beings, not for his own body, that he can have such great power, without fear or private, messy thoughts. It is the good fortune of sentient beings that they can meet Practitioner Su in this world at this time. One should know to grasp this opportunity to seek liberation from the suffering of reincarnation, and no longer be obsessed and ignorant of how to escape the suffering of this world.

Grateful for the Buddha’s compassion, grateful for Practitioner Su’s compassion.

Namo Amituofo."