The Burden of Expectations and the Rain of Deliverance

This is a record of an interview with Wu Songzhang, who sought Spiritual Deliverance at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre in Australia. He now resides in the Western Dharma-Nature Land. This account reflects upon his life, which spanned approximately sixteen years and ended in his youth. It was recorded by the chief writer, Shi Fa, on April 26, 2021.

Wu Songzhang speaks:

"Namo Amituofo. I am Wu Songzhang. Before the Dharma Body of Practitioner Su arrived in Taiwan to perform Chao Du, we—the spirits within the dark rain clouds—had absolutely no opportunity to drift over the island. Taiwan was blocked by heavy karma, and we could only watch from afar, hovering over the nearby seas. Even as the spirits on the island cried out in agony, begging for water, we were powerless. Without the command of the Rain God, we could not simply descend upon Taiwan. The water droplets within our clouds were already heavy enough to release rain; had we been able to drift over the island, we could have brought relief. But we were forbidden. We were forced to let our rain fall directly into the ocean, unable to grant Taiwan even a single drop. That was the situation at the time.

The Command of the Rain God

The Rain God controls us. He follows the directives of the Jade Emperor. Whenever the Jade Emperor decrees that a certain region requires rain, the dispatched Rain God must obey and lead us to that location. At such times, the Rain God summons all nearby clouds. Once he determines that the volume of these clouds is sufficient to meet the quota, he stops the summoning. Even if other clouds are nearby, they are not permitted to join, for if too many clouds gather, the resulting rainfall would exceed the Jade Emperor's command.

Ever since we learned that Practitioner Su had begun the work of Chao Du in Taiwan, we saw the Rain God begin to summon the clouds. However, because the required rainfall was limited, we were not yet called upon. Even though we were very close to the island, we could not join in. It was only recently that we were finally summoned to the southern region of Taiwan to bring rain. The volume was neither too much nor too little; it was enough to temporarily alleviate the crisis of the low reservoir levels, though to truly sustain the needs of the people, much heavier rain is required.

The Compassion of the Departed

Within our group of rain clouds, many of us were Taiwanese in our past lives. Seeing our fellow countrymen suffer, we were all incredibly anxious to help. This is the warmth of the Taiwanese heart—even after death, we remember to protect our homeland. When the Dharma Body of Practitioner Su began to save Taiwan, many of the clouds cheered and screamed with joy. In particular, the young Taiwanese women among us, who missed their hometowns so dearly after death, were desperate to help the moment they knew Taiwan lacked water. Yet, hindered by the collective karma of the people and lacking the Rain God's command, we could provide no assistance. We could only watch helplessly as countless creatures withered and died, their cries for help echoing in the void.

Practitioner Su felt deep compassion for the suffering of all beings. Throughout the space of Taiwan, there were countless spirits—especially animals, marine life, trees that had been felled, insects poisoned by pesticides or burned in fires, and creatures killed by construction and road projects—all emitting powerful resentment and anger. Practitioner Su compassionately guided these spirits, allowing them to see their pasts and to shed their animal or insect forms, restoring them to their original human appearances. Once these beings were restored, their resentment vanished, and they all longed to move toward the light and seek liberation.

After Practitioner Su had guided these layers of spirits away, Taiwan was significantly purified. Only then was the Jade Emperor finally able to issue the command for the Rain God to lead us to Taiwan to bring rain.

A Childhood Under a Dark Cloud

My name is Wu Songzhang. I was born in Quanzhou, which is very close to Taiwan. My father was a soldier, and my mother was a school teacher. In the rural area where we lived, such a family background was highly admired and envied; after all, they earned stable, high salaries and lived a secure, high-quality life.

My parents had three sons, and I was the second. Our family was very large. Every Chinese New Year, when we all gathered together, we had to set up many large round tables just to seat everyone. When we were young, playing together was fun, and there was no pressure. But once I started school, everything changed.

In the past, the time for receiving red envelopes was my happiest moment, as I could use the money to buy things I liked. But after I started school, that moment became my greatest source of stress. My grandfather would ask every grandchild, 'What was your rank in the latest exam? What was your score?' Every one of us had to report to him. Our family placed immense importance on academic performance and professional status. If a grandchild reported a low score or a rank outside the top ten, my grandfather would furrow his brows on the spot and admonish them: 'You must work harder next time. I am not satisfied with this score or this rank.' Of course, during the New Year, he would not lecture too much, but on ordinary days, if he found out about such scores, he would hound that grandchild until they achieved a result that satisfied him.

The 'Useless' Child

Among the three of us brothers, my older brother's grades were excellent, and my younger brother's were not bad either. Only I, no matter how hard I tried, always received the worst results. In the eyes of the adults, I was a child without a future. This 'future' was judged solely by results. No matter how much effort I put into the process, if the final grade was poor, I was a useless, good-for-nothing child.

This was a devastating blow to me. I was the most diligent student of the three. From the moment I started school, I could not bear to waste a single moment on play. I knew my family would look at my scores, and the entire clan would compare us. If I fell behind, it meant my parents lost face, and they would scold me for not being ambitious. So, I dared not relax. Even at the last moment before leaving for school, I would still have a book in my hand. After school, I would quickly bathe and eat, then sit at my desk to study until my eyes were so blurred I could no longer see the words. Only then would I close the book and go to bed. But my sleep was never peaceful. In my dreams, people were always scolding me, calling me useless and stupid. I would hide in a corner and cry, wanting to escape this world, only to wake up and realize it was just a dream.

I often slapped my own head, scolding myself: 'Why are you so stupid!' But scolding was useless. Even if I cursed myself a thousand or ten thousand times, my academic performance did not improve.

The Breaking Point

By my teenage years, I became increasingly self-destructive. I had already tried my best, yet I still could not achieve the results the adults demanded. I did not know what else I could do, and even if I did, I no longer had the physical or mental strength to continue. Eventually, I chose to give up. I stopped studying and spent my days idling. No matter how my family scolded or forced me, I refused to pick up a book because I had already given up on myself. This state was even worse than when I was studying hard. My heart was tightly knotted. I was not a lazy child, but I engaged in lazy, indulgent, and slack behavior, which made the adults despise me even more.

I remember my uncle saying to me in front of everyone: 'Look at this child. They say he's useless, and he really is useless. He can't learn anything at all. What can he possibly do?' I lowered my head, feeling that everyone was laughing at me. I wanted to cry, but I dared not let the tears fall. This was my childhood. Every day was spent in gloom and misery. My sky never saw the blue; it was always filled with dark, heavy clouds.

The Voice in the Dark

At fifteen, I wanted to run away from home. I wanted to go somewhere where my family could never find me, but I did not know where to go, and I had no money. That day after school, I walked home very, very slowly because I did not want to go back. Every step was heavy, as if I could barely walk. When I walked across a suspension bridge, a voice suddenly asked in my mind: 'What would happen if you just jumped?' I looked at the stream beneath the bridge; it was very turbulent, and the bridge was high. If I jumped, and no one saved me, I would surely die. I quickly shook my head, telling myself to wake up and stop having such wild thoughts, and then I crossed the bridge.

Strangely, ever since that thought occurred on the bridge, every time I crossed it, that voice would return, clearer and stronger each time. Eventually, it told me: 'Just jump, and all your troubles will be gone. No one will scold you anymore, no one will call you stupid, and you won't have to live in such pain.' It even told me: 'Don't you want your family to care about you? If you jump, your family will definitely come looking for you. They will be very anxious, and then you will get the care you want. This is what you want, isn't it?' I did not know who was talking to me, but they really wanted me to jump. Once, I actually extended my foot over the edge of the bridge, but I suddenly snapped out of it and was so terrified that I collapsed onto the bridge, not knowing why I had done that.

The Final Straw

Later, I became increasingly afraid to walk across that bridge, but if I did not, I could not go anywhere, as all paths required crossing it. It was painful, truly painful. Why was my life so miserable from the very beginning? I became very depressed, always silent and withdrawn. My body grew thinner, my complexion grew darker, and I was expressionless every day, like a walking corpse. Seeing me like this, everyone just shook their heads. No one wanted to deal with me, leaving me to live in this depressed, gray space all by myself.

One day, a friend of my father's came to our house. My father had not returned yet, so the friend sat in the living room waiting. Bored, he stood up and looked around at the trophies and medals in the cabinet and on the walls—all of them bearing the names of my older and younger brothers. Just then, my father returned. Seeing his friend, he happily began chatting. The friend asked, 'Don't you have three children? I see one named Wu Zhongquan, one named Wu Yuda, but what about the other one?' My father replied, 'That one! Sigh! That one is the most useless of all!' My father dug an old, tattered certificate from the bottom of a drawer and showed it to his friend: 'This is the only certificate he ever won.' The friend picked it up and read: 'Wu Songzhang. This is a good name, very proper. He should be a very well-behaved child.' My father said with surprise, 'Well-behaved? In my eyes, a well-behaved child is one who earns enough certificates to cover an entire wall, just like my other two children. Look, from the first grade of elementary school, every year they have all kinds of awards. I have so many I cannot even display them all and have to keep them in the drawer. That is what a son of mine should be! I really do not know how I ended up with this rotten egg. If I had known it would be like this, I would have just told his mother not to give birth to him at all, so I would not have to lose face.'

At that moment, I was sitting at the dining table behind that wall. Every word my father and his friend said was heard clearly, and it felt like a sharp knife cutting into my heart over and over again. He was my father, and yet my own father spoke of me this way. How would others see me? Was I really that terrible? My father's words were the final straw that broke the camel's back. I truly could not bear it anymore. Ignoring the presence of my father's friend, I rushed out the front door. I did not know where I was going, but I kept running forward, my tears flowing uncontrollably. I shouted at the sky: 'I hate my father, I hate my mother, I hate myself, I hate this world!'

Liberation

That day, I did not go home. I hid under the altar table in a temple until dawn, when the temple keeper opened the doors and I snuck out. I had nowhere to go, and I did not know what the meaning of life was anymore. I had not slept all night, my mind was scattered, and it was raining heavily that day. As I walked along the road, I was not paying attention and was struck dead by a large truck. In the few seconds before I stopped breathing, I looked up at the dark clouds in the sky and smiled. As the rain hit my face, I could no longer distinguish between tears and rain. I said to myself: 'Finally, I am free!'

After my spirit left my body, I entered the rain clouds, which is how I am now. My life lasted only sixteen short years. Those sixteen years were lived in hardship and pain. I never met a noble person to guide me, and so my life ended just like that. All of that is in the past now. Perhaps this life was just meant for repaying debts? Now, I am truly liberated. Every day, I sit on a lotus seat listening to the sutras, my body and mind completely at peace. I am so grateful for the compassionate rescue of Practitioner Su.

Now, the Rain God is coming to Taiwan in waves. The water in the reservoirs will gradually rise until it reaches a sufficient level, resolving this disaster. All of this is thanks to the compassion of Practitioner Su. If not for the great rescue by Practitioner Su's Dharma Body, Taiwan would likely be suffering from a severe water shortage by now. Beyond the suffering of sentient beings, the human beings themselves would be suffering, and the farmers who rely on crops for their livelihood would be in unbearable agony. My Buddha is compassionate, Practitioner Su is compassionate. I am infinitely grateful.

Namo Amituofo."