The Echoes of Our Words

This is a record of an interview with He Guangyong, who sought spiritual 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 past lives and his eventual transformation. Recorded by the chief writer, Shi Fa, on May 18, 2025.

He Guangyong speaks:

"The origins of life are all grown within causal conditions that no amount of language can fully articulate, and these conditions... none of them can escape the laws of karma and cause and effect. I am deeply grateful for the opportunity I have today to be reborn in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. I am grateful to Namo Amituofo, and I am grateful to Practitioner Su. On behalf of all the prison guards, I, He Guangyong, kowtow in gratitude for the Buddha's grace and for the grace of Practitioner Su. Namo Amituofo.

A Scholar's Pride and the Blade of Logic

In a past life, I was born into a scholarly family in Shannan Prefecture. From a young age, I was intelligent and diligent in my studies. By five, I could recite hundreds of texts; by seven, I could answer any question with ease. My teachers held me in high regard, and my parents were always proud, certain that I would one day top the imperial examinations and bring honour to our ancestors. I, too, was always proud of my own 'intelligence.'

From my youth, I loved to debate and point out the flaws in others' thinking. My words were never aggressive, yet every sentence struck the vital point. I was accustomed to speaking bluntly, often saying, 'I only speak the truth; there is no need to pretend to be a good person.' In the eyes of others, I was a rational, logical man who spoke decisively and without hesitation.

Once, a neighbour came to ask if she should lend money to her brother to help him get back on his feet. I replied coldly, 'Your brother’s gambling addiction is not cured; lending him money is like throwing it into the water. I advise you to give up on him early.' The woman’s face turned pale, she nodded silently, and turned to leave. From that day on, I never saw her speak of her family affairs again.

There was also a cousin who had failed the imperial examinations for years and wanted to learn a trade to make a living. I frowned and said, 'You are clumsy and slow-witted; you cannot even study books well, yet you dream of learning a craft? You might as well return to the countryside to farm; that would be more realistic.' He hung his head in despair after hearing this and remained depressed for the rest of his days. My mother secretly scolded me, 'He has not yet reached a dead end; why must you be the one to close the door on him?' I disagreed, retorting, 'Should I have coddled him in his delusions?'

The Invisible Walls We Build

I never cursed anyone, never teased, and never blatantly trampled on others. But I was accustomed to using the blade of 'reason' to peel people layer by layer, exposing them to the cold wind. I always said, 'I am speaking the truth; I am doing this for your own good.'

I said, 'This is not throwing cold water on you; I am helping you see clearly.' I said, 'If you trust me, listen; stop deceiving yourself.' I believed I was sincere and responsible, never realising that those 'well-intentioned reminders' were actually closing the windows in people's hearts, one by one. I thought I was helping many people avoid paths of failure. Until later, when these people one by one stopped confiding in me, stopped pouring out their hearts to me. They became silent, reserved, and even fearful in my presence.

I married, had children, and became a teacher. To outsiders, my life seemed smooth and untroubled. In my later years, with grandchildren around my knees, I often felt a profound emptiness in my heart. The year I reached the end of my life was a late autumn evening. The wind was slightly cool, and leaves were falling outside the window. I lay on my couch, surrounded by silence. I could not hear a single cry, and no one held my hand.

I had thought my life was clean and my words were without guilt, and that I should have no regrets. But as my breath began to fade, a thought suddenly arose in my heart: Did they really need the things I said? At that moment, I felt as if I had fallen into a bottomless well. Sound, light, and warmth vanished entirely. Only a heaviness remained, like a silent tomb I had built with my own hands. It was not hell, yet it was more inescapable than hell. It was the echo of my own words, finally returning to cast me into a deep abyss of isolation.

The Blade of Grass in the Wall

I do not know how much time passed. When I awoke, I no longer had a human form. I was a blade of grass, growing in a crack in the brick wall outside a temple. That I could be born outside a temple was not a coincidence; it was a faint blessing. Although I had created verbal karma in my previous life, I had briefly been close to the Buddha’s gate during my middle years. At that time, my family suffered a great tragedy—the death of a child. I was heartbroken and once declared, 'Life is ultimately suffering and emptiness; practising anything is just self-deception.' But a monk at that time did not argue with me; he only said, 'If it is truly suffering and emptiness, can you walk with the Buddha?' I remained silent for three days.

Later, I went to the Anji Temple behind the mountain and stayed for seven days. During those seven days, I recited the sutras morning and evening. Although my heart was not calm, I recited the Amitabha Sutra word by word. That night, I knelt before the Buddha and said, 'If my words have ever misled others, may the Buddha bless me to know it.' However, that repentance did not last. Entangled in worldly affairs, I left the mountain temple, plunged back into human affairs, and never looked back. But those seven days were like a faint light hidden in the haze, never extinguished.

Because of this, when I fell into a non-human body, I was still able to manifest in the corner of the temple wall. Not in a sewer or muddy ground, not on barren rocks, but beside the sound of sutra chanting and the Buddha-name—this was my remaining karmic blessing, allowing me to still hear the sutras and bathe in the Dharma rain. But this time, I could no longer speak. I could only listen, only be still, and only experience the fruits of the thousands of words I had spoken in the silence.

The Lesson of Being Overlooked

When the wind blew, I swayed gently; when the rain fell, I bowed silently. Beside me were pilgrims coming and going, and the bells and chanting that never ceased from dawn to dusk. I saw the sunlight fall on the eaves, and I saw the devotees running for shelter when dark clouds came. I could see everything, but no one saw me. I worked hard every day to grow upward, hoping that one day I could poke my head out from the brick crack and have someone stop to look at me. Spring came, and I sprouted tender shoots; summer arrived, and I stretched my leaves. I thought that as long as I worked hard enough, one day I would be seen.

Finally, one day, I grew half a finger’s length above the brick crack, and the sunlight fell right on me. I trembled with joy, thinking this was the glorious moment of my life as grass. Unexpectedly, an old monk sweeping the floor came by. His gaze never fell on me; he simply swept me up, roots and all, along with the fallen leaves on the ground into his basket. In that instant, I was not yet dead, but my heart cracked like paper. In that faint breath, I seemed to hear the words I had spoken in my past life: 'For someone like you, no amount of effort is of any use.'

Those words fell heavily in my heart. So, this is what those words taste like. So, to be ignored, to be uprooted, to be treated as superfluous—it is so cold, so painful, and so silent. I did not die, yet I was like the dead every day. I did not cry, yet I shed silent tears every night. I understood what a 'life that no one sees' truly is.

A New Vow to Speak Light

Time flowed like sand. Days rose and moons set. I went from hoping to be seen to accepting my silent existence. I finally stopped stretching, and I stopped expecting. Until one day, a young monk came to sweep. He squatted down, brushed aside the withered leaves beside me, and his gaze fell upon me. He did not pull me out, and he did not sweep me away. He pressed his palms together and said softly, 'May the silent ones hear the Buddha’s sound, and may the grass and trees also receive the light.'

In that instant, my entire being trembled. That sound pierced through my leaf veins and struck my withered roots. A thought arose in my heart—I want to be a human again. Not to be seen, not to get ahead. It is to learn how to say a word that makes people not give up. I wish to no longer use language to kill; I wish to speak words that make people shine. This thought was like a seed breaking through the soil, and light surged from the bottom of my heart. My roots loosened, my leaves withered, and I knew I was about to leave this corner of the wall. This was not death; it was a transformation, a vow, a beginning. I would be a human again. This time, I want to use language to make people willing to continue living.

I was born into the world again, this time as the son of a small merchant in a town. I was sharp and steady from a young age, with perfect manners, but I always felt a thin mist between myself and others. The things I said were not deeply heard. The suggestions I made were always lightly brushed aside with an 'Hmm, that’s true.' When I spoke, people’s eyes often wandered away, and I did not know where the problem lay. My tone was gentle, my content was reasonable, and my attitude was humble, yet I always made people feel distant. Once, while drinking with a friend, he suddenly said in a low voice, 'I don’t know why, but every time you speak, I just don’t want to listen anymore.' My heart shook, and I was speechless, only able to laugh it off. But at that moment, I seemed to hear the echoes of my words from two lifetimes. It was not a mistake of this life; it was the magnetic field of verbal karma accumulated too deeply in the past.

The Path of Liberation

I spoke less and less, and lived more and more quietly. I learned to stop being proactive, to stop commenting, and to stop trying to change anyone. I lived as a wall, a shadow. It was not that society rejected me, but that I had silently walked into a realm of isolation. Until one day, I passed by the temple. The sound of the sutra chanting inside was clear and melodious, pouring into my heart like a trickling stream piercing through a stone wall. I stopped, turned, entered the temple, and knelt, unable to rise. That night, I did not pray. I only wanted to say one thing to the Buddha: 'I wish to learn how to speak words that do not destroy others.'

I recited the first Buddha-name—'Namo Amituofo.' Before the sound left my lips, tears fell first. I felt as if I had grown again from the crack in the wall. Not to become famous or successful, but only so that people would no longer sink because of me. From then on, I recited the Buddha-name every day. Not to seek blessings, but to remind myself: a single word can save a person, and it can also bury them. I would rather be silent than speak a single wrong word again; I would rather not be remembered than have someone doubt themselves because of me. In this life, I may not be great, but I wish to be that lamp that guards the mouth, lit in the dark places of the human heart.

After I passed away, I walked into the dark path again, but this time, there was no darkness in my heart. Although the light was not great, it could guide me to continue moving forward. When I arrived before the King of Hell, my heart was already calm. I did not know where my path would lead next, but I was willing to believe in the guidance of all light. The King of Hell was compassionate and sent me to serve here, which gave me many opportunities to learn. I am truly grateful. Over these years, I have seen the many states of life, and finally, I have had the good fortune to hear Practitioner Su teach the Dharma. This has made my heart much clearer, and I understand that I must step onto this path of liberation. I vow to actively practise and to help more people, to bring peace to others, and to help them also walk this path of liberation. I am very grateful that I have the opportunity today to be reborn in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. On behalf of all the prison guards and sentient beings with karmic affinity, I, He Guangyong, kowtow in gratitude for the Buddha's grace and for the grace of Practitioner Su. Namo Amituofo.

He Guangyong, with palms pressed together."