A Guardian of the Land Finds Deliverance

Li Benyuan, a lifelong farmer who served as a spirit of the land in Yunlin, Taiwan, sought deliverance from the suffering of sentient beings. This interview, recorded by Chief Writer Shi Faxin on April 17, 2021, documents his transition to the Western Dharma-Nature Land at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre.

Li Benyuan speaks:

"Namo Amituofo. I am Li Benyuan. Just as a brilliant, radiant light descended upon us, we were all quite bewildered, unsure of what was happening. Suddenly, a voice nearby cried out: 'The Buddha is here! The Buddha is here!' Upon hearing that shout, everyone immediately knelt. Many voices began to weep: 'Oh—oh—Buddha, please save us! We want to go home with the Buddha.' The Buddha did not speak; he simply emitted light, silently leading us. Countless creatures raised their hands, calling out: 'Buddha, I am here! I am here!' Boundless Dharma protectors lifted the spirits up. Behind them stood a very radiant Buddha, whom everyone called Practitioner Su. I could hear the earth itself crying out. Wherever he passed, the space became less crowded. Having been a spirit of the land for so long, this was the first time I had encountered such a scene. I truly believe it was the Buddha manifesting to help us all.

I led the creatures of the earth in kneeling to thank the Buddha for coming to our land. Many beings followed the light and departed with the Buddha. I am filled with gratitude for the Buddha's compassion."

The Beauty and Resilience of Formosa

"Formosa is what we call Taiwan—a beautiful treasure island shaped like a sweet potato, which also reflects the honest, simple nature of its people. This beautiful island is small on the world map, yet it is rich in resources. Even though it was once ruled by other nations and faced many trials, it has persevered. I have seen the history of Taiwan's development clearly; it is a story of generation after generation overcoming obstacles. The living environment and conditions have steadily improved, and I have watched over this land with joy.

I was a farmer, a true child of Taiwan. Before the restoration, my father worked for the Japanese, and after the restoration, he returned to our hometown to farm. There was so much work to be done in the fields that my parents had nine children—five boys and four girls—all born to help with the labour. I was the ninth, the youngest in the family, and I was physically a bit frail, so everyone, including my grandparents, doted on me. When I was too young to work in the fields, I would stay home and massage everyone. I would massage my grandfather, my grandmother, my father, my mother, my older brothers, and my sisters. I massaged every single member of the family, so by the end of the day, I was exhausted, but everyone would be laughing with joy."

Growing Up on Sweet Potatoes

"When I was a child, we grew rice, sweet potatoes, and corn. Sweet potatoes were the most common food on our table. When my third sister would complain, 'Sweet potatoes again!', my mother would say, 'As Taiwanese living in a sweet potato-shaped land, we naturally grow up eating sweet potatoes. That is what it means to be born and bred here. Our family still has food to eat, unlike many others who worry about their next meal. We should be grateful.' My mother repeated this so often from our childhood that we could all recite it by heart.

My mother's name was Wang Xiu. After taking my father's surname, she was called Li Wang Xiu, though everyone just called her 'A-Xiu.' My mother was very popular. She was short and plump, while my father was tall and thin. My mother would often joke with others, saying, 'My husband and I are like a winter melon paired with a bamboo pole.' There was a large irrigation ditch near our house filled with fish and clams. To help add to our family's meals, I would sometimes take a bamboo basket woven by my grandfather and jump into the ditch to scoop up clams. I would return home proudly holding a basket full of them, and my brothers and sisters would cheer. With so many people in the family, once the food was cooked, I would be the one to distribute it. My grandparents, my parents, and then my brothers, sisters, and I—everyone ate happily. The empty shells became my toys."

A Lesson in Compassion

"At eleven, I began working in the fields—weeding, tilling the soil, and planting seedlings. Life was never boring. A yellow dog always followed me. It wasn't ours; it was a stray. When it was very small, I saw it drowning in a flooded field and quickly rescued it. I even tore off pieces of the steamed bun my mother had prepared for my lunch and placed them on the ground for it to eat, saving its little life. My mother wouldn't let me bring the puppy home. She said, 'We already have too many animals to feed; where would we find room for it?' I scratched my head and looked at the backyard fence. Indeed, we had two cows, five pigs, eight chickens, and a hen that had just hatched ten chicks. Just carrying the feed, cutting the grass, and managing the kitchen scraps kept us busy enough. My mother said, 'A dog is no different from another person to feed. Don't look for trouble. If you insist on keeping it, you can trade places with it, otherwise, forget it.' It was strange—I only said one sentence, but my mother gave me a long lecture. My sister said women are hard to deal with when they are in a bad mood, so I stopped asking and tried to think of another way.

So, I really did share a little bit of my own food with the dog every day. I named him A-Xiong. As A-Xiong grew, he needed more and more food. In desperation, I told my mother, 'Mother, I am so hungry every day.' My mother said happily, 'You are growing into a man!' From then on, she prepared two portions for me every day. A-Xiong would wait for me halfway to the fields, and when he saw me, he would run up and wag his tail. We would sit under a big tree to enjoy our breakfast together before heading to work."

The Weight of Karma

"Those days were so happy, until one day, a bucket of pesticide was left in the field to be sprayed. A-Xiong accidentally drank it and died right there by the field. I cried so bitterly. I had to shift my focus to caring for the chickens, cows, and pigs at home. I cared for them with all my heart, but after a while, my mother would sell them to others, and they would never return. Once, I cried and asked my mother, 'Mother, can we not sell them?' My mother shouted, 'If we don't sell them, what will you eat? What will the whole family eat? They are raised to be sold. It's not something you can solve just by being sentimental. You are a child; you don't understand.' It was true; I really didn't understand why we had to trade other lives for our own survival. My heart was filled with doubt and helplessness. I told my mother, 'I don't want to take care of them anymore.' My mother was furious and scolded me, 'You unfilial son, you don't want to work, you only want to eat?' I told her, 'It's not that I don't want to work. It's just that a few days ago, I dreamed that the chickens we sold were screaming so miserably before they were slaughtered, yet they were still hacked to pieces. It made me so sad.' My mother said, 'You think too much.' My intuition told me that it wasn't that I was thinking too much, but that they were truly suffering."

A Lifetime of Service to the Land

"After I stopped caring for the livestock, I went to the fields with my grandfather to farm, learning his old techniques. When tilling the soil, we would harness the tools to the cow, and I would walk back and forth in the fields, watching over the animal. By the end of the day, the cow was tired, and I was tired too. When I got home, I would collapse and fall fast asleep. Whenever my grandfather saw me exhausted, he would say, 'A child is just a child.' From the age of eight, I farmed with my grandfather until I was nearly eighty. I had become the 'grandfather' the children spoke of. Even at eighty, I still went to the fields every day, with my five-year-old grandson following me, just as I had followed my grandfather.

Sitting by the field, my grandson asked me, 'Grandfather, did you plant all of this?' I nodded and began to reflect on my life. In truth, I had several opportunities to leave my hometown and work elsewhere, where I wouldn't have to endure the hardship of farming. But I gave up those good opportunities. I chose to stay on the land where I had grown up. Having farmed with my grandfather for so long, I had developed a deep emotional bond with this land; it even gave me a sense of security."

Becoming a Spirit of the Land

"I married A-Luan from two houses over, and we had eight children. We worked hard every day to raise them. Having seen one family after another experience parting and sorrow, I knew that life is just like that. When my legs began to feel heavy and my vision grew dim, I knew my time was short. One day, I called all my children together and told them, 'Father's time is short. When I die, bury me where I can see our land, so that even in death, I can still guard it.' My children didn't reply, but they knew what to do. I divided all my property, land, and livestock, including the ancestral home we lived in, among my children, telling them to guard it well.

One day, I peacefully departed from this world. I thought I would enter the grave I had purchased to guard my land, but instead, an old man holding a scepter told me to take it. I then became the spirit of the land for the Yunlin area. I was quite happy to become a spirit of the land because my jurisdiction was large, and from time to time, I had to patrol to see if anything was happening. However, as I began my patrols, some worrying things weighed on my heart. Many farmers burn the land with hay to make the soil fertile, not knowing how many insects are burned to death in the process. When they spray pesticides, countless more are poisoned. Some of these victimized insects follow the farmers, while others continue to suffer in the space where they were harmed or burned. Furthermore, because people consume livestock, the creatures harbour resentment from the pain of being slaughtered or dismembered. The countless sea creatures—the seafood that people talk about—exist within people's blood and in the surrounding space. The pork and chicken on everyone's daily table also come with a price. There is so much ignorant karma being created. This has caused Taiwan, originally a rich land, to accumulate an atmosphere of disharmony. The pollution caused by human economic development and the silent resentment of the earth have all accumulated during this recent disaster."

A Call to Awaken

"I, Li Benyuan, the spirit of the land, have stepped forward as a representative because I see a glimmer of hope for Taiwan: the light of Practitioner Su's Chao Du has opened up many unknown spaces, bringing peace to many spirits. But it is not enough. This resentment has accumulated into a thick layer and is increasing daily, which is why people's natural resources are becoming increasingly scarce and difficult.

I am an honest Taiwanese, and I know that everyone creates karma out of ignorance. This time, we must thank Practitioner Su for coming to perform Chao Du. He is Taiwanese, and Taiwanese should help Taiwanese. Everyone should wake up and chant the Buddha's name together to perform Chao Du, so that our treasure island can experience spring in all four seasons and the lives harmed by ignorance can find liberation. I thank the Buddha, Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva, Mahasthamaprapta Bodhisattva, and the many Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, and Dharma protectors for coming together to help Taiwan with Chao Du and to pray for rain. I, Benyuan, once again lead the masses and the spirits in kneeling to express our gratitude for the Buddha's grace (moved to tears)."

Memorial Tablet: For the countless sentient beings and livestock on the land of Taiwan harmed by agriculture, economy, and industry. Representative: Li Benyuan.

Entered the Western Land of Dharma Nature at Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre.