The Jailer's Awakening: From the Market to the Pure Land

This is a record of an interview with Lin Wenjing, who sought deliverance at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre in Australia. He now resides in the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. This account reflects upon his life and his journey through the realms of reincarnation. Recorded by the chief writer, Shi Faxin, on June 28, 2024.

Lin Wenjing speaks:

"Namo Amituofo. Before me, there is only the endless, brilliant light of the Buddha. It was only after seeing the Buddha that I realised I had actually been in the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss all along. I had been wandering for so long, and now, finally, I have returned home. The fate of reincarnation kept me in a state of ignorance, but now that I have arrived in the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss, my heart is filled with incomparable gratitude and joy.

I am deeply grateful to Practitioner Su for personally leading us to the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. I am grateful for the Buddha’s guidance, which has given me—along with sixty other jailers and immeasurable and boundless beings—the precious opportunity to be reborn in the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss."

A Life Among the Vegetables

"I am Lin Wenjing. Many people used to say that my name sounded very refined, as if I should have been a teacher or a professor. But how did I end up as a vegetable seller in a local market? Whenever someone teased me about my name, I would always smile and say, 'I am a teacher, too. My classroom is the vegetable market. In the market, I have learned many different facets of life and gained a deep understanding of the truths of human existence. Therefore, I am proud of the work I did every day, and I am even prouder to share these lessons with others.'

From my earliest memories, my parents had to leave home very early to go to the wholesalers to buy vegetables and fruit. From a young age, they instilled in us the importance of independence. Before they left, they would leave breakfast on the table for us, and my younger brother and I were expected to finish our meal and head off to school on our own. We also had to divide the household chores between us. Sometimes, we would envy the other children who were dropped off and picked up by their parents, as it seemed their parents were always by their side. Yet, while I felt that way, I also deeply understood the hardship my parents endured."

The Heavy Chains of Human Emotion

"The most common topic of conversation in our home was the price of vegetables—which were cheaper, and which we should buy more of the next day. Their dialogue was almost entirely consumed by the logistics of the market. From childhood to adulthood, I never saw them take a break. Only when a typhoon hit and it was truly impossible to leave the house were they forced to rest. When I was nine, my parents began asking me to join them at the market to help sell vegetables. I did whatever I could.

I was quite fair-skinned and delicate, and I became the 'face' of our vegetable stall. Many uncles and aunties would see me calling out to customers and would make sure to come to our stall to buy their produce. The neighbouring vendors would often say that I was my parents' 'golden treasure'—that as long as I was there, money would flow in. We operated that stall for decades, and we were very close to everyone around us. Whether it was the other vendors in the market or the customers who came to buy, we were all like one big family, even without blood ties.

Auntie Zhou, who sold pork at the stall next to ours, would often come to complain to my mother about her husband. Although he helped at the pork stall, he spent most of his time gambling. When he lost money, he would come back to demand more, and his temper was volatile. The couple would sometimes get into violent fights. I would see bruises on Auntie Zhou, and my heart would ache for her. Sometimes, she would cry out, 'I have had enough of this life!' yet she continued to live with him. Then, one day, her husband died suddenly on the street from alcohol-related complications. Auntie Zhou was still heartbroken. Without the constant bickering, I saw Auntie Zhou age instantly; her spirit seemed utterly shattered."

The Burden of Attachment

"Although I felt a sense of loss for Uncle Zhou, I did not understand why Auntie Zhou had spent so long complaining about wanting to leave him, only to be so devastated when he was truly gone. I asked my mother what was happening. My mother told me, 'This is what we call human emotion. Emotion is a form of bondage. Many times, you feel the burden is too heavy, yet you are unable to let go.' I asked her, 'Is every relationship like this?' My mother replied, 'Where there is emotion, there is longing, and there is the fear of loss. Look at our market. You know everyone here—who among them is free from emotion? The love between husband and wife, the love of parents for their children, the love of a grandmother for her grandchildren—though the circumstances differ, these emotions constantly pull at the heart.'

For example, when Uncle Niu's son was in a car accident, Uncle Niu's heart was suspended in mid-air, filled with worry until he confirmed his son was safe. As my mother described these things, I realised that the bonds we share are a mixture of bitterness and joy, with the bitterness far outweighing the joy. To verify this for myself, I began to observe everyone closely. I saw many customers who were smiling on the outside, but their hearts were not smiling at all. Even my own parents were the same. I asked myself, 'Must I live this life forever?' From my teens into my twenties, I kept asking this question. I knew I did not want this life, but what else could I do? I searched constantly, hoping to find an answer."

The Call of the Temple

"I watched as the people in the market, those of my parents' generation, grew older. Many no longer had the physical strength to carry heavy loads as they once did. With no younger generation willing to take over the stalls, they had no choice but to sell them or close them down. As I grew older, the familiar faces at the market were replaced by strangers, and a sense of profound loneliness took root in my heart. It felt as though, before long, everyone I knew would vanish from my side. I could not bear to imagine that day, so I was desperate to find the truth.

Finally, after months of searching, I arrived at a temple. The peace of the temple resonated with my heart. I knew I had found it—the feeling I had been searching for all along. I bid farewell to my parents and stayed at the temple as a long-term volunteer. Every day, I would listen to sutras and hear the Dharma, and I would share what I had learned with the other volunteers and devotees. Serving in the temple, I found true joy, and I came to understand the happiness that comes from selfless contribution.

I deeply admired the Master. The Master taught us how to transcend the world and how to properly utilise this body. Every day of service in the temple was fulfilling; it was a process of awakening and elevating my spirit. When I was fifty, news came from home that my mother had fallen ill. My heart was in turmoil. I was torn, not knowing whether I should return home. For many nights, I could not sleep. Finally, I decided to return home to fulfil my filial duties, to accompany my mother through the final stage of her life and repay a kindness."

A Duty in the Underworld

"After returning home, I was overwhelmed by mundane affairs, and the Causal Conditions to return to the temple never manifested. I was pulled by the various attachments of home, yet my heart constantly yearned for the life I had in the temple. Unexpectedly, a few years later, after I passed away from illness, I became a wandering spirit around the temple. I drifted near the temple grounds, but I could never enter. I could clearly hear the Dharma assemblies and the chanting of the Buddha's name from within.

I do not know how long I wandered as a spirit before I was brought before the King of Hell by the Black and White Impermanence for interrogation. The scene of the interrogation was so clear. I saw that because of my own selfishness, I had been tethered by family matters and lacked the 'big heart' to serve all beings, which was why my karmic creditors were able to find me and why I could not return to the temple. I felt such shame that I had not truly lived for the sake of all beings. As I was repenting, the King of Hell said, 'In this life, you served all beings in the temple with all your heart, and for this merit, you may take the position of a jailer.'

I was grateful for this opportunity and served with all my might every day. I saw so many spirits suffering due to their attachments, their anger, and their lust. Every spirit in the hells was enduring the most painful punishments, and I hoped that they, too, could awaken. While serving, I listened to Practitioner Su give Dharma talks, and I learned that the true, great Dharma is to let go and return to one's purest self. I chanted Namo Amituofo incessantly, hoping that one day I would have the chance to go to the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. Today, I am grateful that my wish has been fulfilled. After chanting the Buddha's name aloud, I saw the Buddha. I am grateful to the Buddha, and I am grateful for the guidance of Practitioner Su.

Namo Amituofo.

Lin Wenjing, with palms joined."