The Dawn of Consciousness: A Bodhisattva's Ancient Memory

This is a record of an interview with the Bodhisattva Shi Jinglan, who attained the level of a Bodhisattva in the Four Sacred Realms. She reflects upon her life approximately eighty-one million years ago, long before the dawn of modern language. Recorded by Venerable Hailiang on August 25, 2020.

Venerable Hailiang:

"Namo Amituofo. I humbly invite the Bodhisattva Shi Jinglan of the Four Sacred Realms to share with us how you achieved the status of a Bodhisattva through your practice in that distant lifetime."

Bodhisattva Shi Jinglan speaks:

"Namo Amituofo. It was approximately eighty-one million years ago. Imagine, if you will, a rugged cliffside. Below the jagged rocks, the natural formation of the cliff created a roof-like structure, and a deep fissure in the stone provided a perfect shelter against the wind and the biting cold. It was a home carved by the natural world itself—a sanctuary where, even on the rainiest days, we remained dry. It felt as though this place had been built specifically for the two of us.

The Language of the Heart

In those days, we had no language as you know it today. We communicated through simple sounds—'Ah', 'Oo', 'Wu'—and through the subtle language of our bodies and the depth of our gazes. In the summer, we wrapped our lower bodies in large leaves; in the winter, we used feathers. My mother, who was pregnant, moved with great difficulty. One day, she felt a heaviness in her abdomen and, believing the time had come, she lay down to rest. She waited for hours, yet the pain persisted. My father, seeing the agony etched across her face, gently touched her belly, emitting soft 'Ah' sounds. She responded with 'Wu' and tears streaming down her cheeks. He stayed by her side, a silent guardian in the dark.

When the moment finally arrived, she screamed, clutching my father’s hands with every ounce of strength she possessed. We waited, breathless, in the dim light of the torch my father had lit. But there was no sound. The creature that emerged from her womb did not move; its body began to darken. My mother wept—not just from the physical pain, which had subsided, but from a profound, aching sorrow. We prayed together for that little life, and then, with heavy hearts, we performed a cremation. It was our first shared act of reverence for a life that never truly began.

The Birth of Wawa

Days passed, and we returned to our simple rhythm. My father crafted a wooden spear to catch fish in the shallows, while my mother gathered wild fruits and roots. Before we ate, we would call out to one another—'Ah-Wu, Ah-Wu'—a sound of gratitude and connection. Time flowed like a river. Eventually, my mother’s belly began to swell once more. My father remained indifferent, but my mother was devout, looking to the sun each morning and the moon each night, as if pleading with the heavens for the life within her.

One day, under a brilliant sun and a refreshing breeze, the labour began again. This time, my father was hesitant to approach, but my mother called out to him with her 'Wu' sounds. He came, took her hand, and she gestured for him to make the 'Ah' sound. He complied, and together they chanted 'Ah-Ah-Ah'. Suddenly, a divine fragrance filled the air. 'Pop!'—and there I was! We waited for a sound, and then, a loud, clear cry rang out: 'Wah! Wah! Wah!' My father lifted me up, spinning in circles. He saw that I was just like him, and he laughed with pure joy. From that day on, our communication became 'Ah-Ah-Oo-Oo-Wah-Wah'. That was my birth, and my name became Wawa.

Lessons in Survival

In the beginning, my mother, Wuwu, held me close to her chest, and I was naturally nourished. As I grew, I began to crawl. Once, I ventured too close to the water's edge. My father, Aa, saw me and rushed over, scooping me up. He mimicked the danger of the water, his face contorted in fear, his body trembling. I understood him perfectly—he was telling me that the water was a place of peril. I thought myself quite clever, so instead of the water, I climbed upward, scaling the steep rock face. My parents screamed in terror, 'Wah-wah-wah-wah!' I slowly climbed down, and my father caught me just as I slipped. He handed me to my mother, and once I was safe, he turned to me with a fierce expression, pointing at the cliff. I understood again: do not climb so high, or he would be angry. I gave him a sweet, innocent smile, and his fierce face melted into a grin. We sat in a circle, singing 'Ah-Ah-Oo-Oo-Wah-Wah', swaying our heads, and even the moon seemed to be smiling down at us.

The Warning from the Deep

One night, black clouds swallowed the sky. My mother clutched me tight, crying, 'Aa, let us hide in the cave!' No sooner had we retreated than a deafening roar shook the earth—thunder, followed by a torrential downpour. I was terrified by the booming sounds, sobbing until dawn. When the rain stopped and the light returned, my father went to find my mother, gesturing excitedly for her to come outside. We stepped out to find the ground covered in fish—big ones, small ones, everywhere! We gathered them, and my mother dried them with vines. That night, we roasted fish by the fire. As I reached for a large fish, it looked at me with its eyes, conveying a message: 'Leave this place quickly! A few days from now, the sea will surge inland. We were brought to the shore by the churning of the ocean floor.' I relayed this to my parents. They didn't understand the concept of an earthquake, but when I asked the fish again, it confirmed: 'A great tremor beneath the sea. The waves will rise higher than the cliffs.' My parents finally understood the urgency of the message.

The next day, we packed our essentials—vines, torches, and fire-starting stones—and headed for the mountains. We were accustomed to the sea, and the mountain air brought us out in itchy red spots. We endured seven days of discomfort, my parents encouraging me to be patient. When we finally returned to our home by the sea, we were shocked. The very cliffside where we lived had shifted, now facing the light. My father, guided by the fish's warning, stopped fishing. We turned to gathering wild vegetables and catching small birds. But when I saw my father plucking a bird, I cried out, 'Aa, don't! It hurts me when you pull its feathers!' The bird had told me, 'Please, it hurts so much! I have children waiting for me, can you let me go?' My father sighed, 'If I cannot eat the fish or the birds, what am I to eat?' Just then, a snail crawled by. My father didn't like its dark colour, so he let it be. In our moment of hunger, my mother brought out a pile of small, cooked mountain yams. They were delicious—better than fish, better than bird meat. And so, we changed our diet, finally solving the problem of our survival.

The Giants from the Sea

We spent our days walking the coast and the forests. One day, we saw six giants approaching, carrying a wooden raft. They were twice the size of my father. They spoke to us, and though we didn't understand their words, their tone was kind. They gestured, asking for food. My parents offered them a large platter of yams, which they devoured in an instant. They asked for more, and when I gestured that they had eaten it all, the giants went to their raft and returned with a bounty: a massive bunch of bananas, a giant pineapple, and tart red plums. Before they left, they pointed to the brightest star in the sky, telling us to follow its direction to find our kin on the other side of the coast. They were on their way to find a witch who could perform magic to help their village. My mother asked if I wanted to go with them, but I told her I couldn't leave my father alone, and I was too small. We decided to wait until they returned, and then we would all set out together.' Namo Amituofo."

As the days turned into weeks, my father suddenly took my hand one day. He didn't say a word, but after walking a short distance, he spoke in the language I understood: "Shall we go and find our own people? I have grown this tall, yet I have never seen anyone who looks like me." Since the great giant had suggested it, we decided to set out in search of them. My father and I walked quickly, carrying the bananas, pineapples, red plums, and taro that Mother had given us. Mother had given me very clear instructions: "Eat the red plums only when you are truly thirsty. Eat the taro only when you are extremely hungry. The bananas are for when you need to go to the bathroom but cannot. Eat the pineapples only when you are very sleepy." Her instructions were so clear that I found them easy to remember. My father and I walked for three days and three nights, following the coastline as the giant had directed. When we were exhausted, we suddenly saw people ahead who looked just like us—short, thin, and with dark skin. We waved to them, and when they saw my father and me, they led us to meet their chieftain.

The chieftain looked at my father and me, and immediately, he burst into a joyful smile. He spoke many words—"Aa, ah, #※§☆＆◎"—and we both responded with "Aa," gesturing with our hands because we did not understand. The chieftain then brought out a bamboo stick. In front of his seat was a small patch of sand; he used the bamboo to smooth it out and drew a circle that seemed to emit light. My father and I understood: he was saying that my parents were children who had been lost from their tribe. My father was the chieftain's youngest son, and my mother was the daughter of a village warrior; they had been carried away by a whirlwind when they were very young. To confirm this, he asked to see my father's feet, specifically the little toe, which was missing a nail.

A Reunion of Lost Souls

My father told the chieftain that Mother was still living in a cave on a steep cliff, so the chieftain sent three warriors to invite her to join us. A few days later, I saw Mother in the distance and ran to pull her hand. When Mother saw that the people here looked just like us—thin, small, and dark-skinned—she realised these were our own people. The chieftain said to my father and mother, "You were lost when you were so young; you must have suffered greatly." I saw tears fall from Mother's eyes. Mother found her father, and Father found his father, and so we settled down to live there. I became the chieftain's favourite little grandson. My father was the eighth child and had seven older brothers, but they had only ever had daughters; I was the only boy. Grandfather Chieftain wanted me to come find him every time I woke up. He would say, "Come and play with me every day." I was absolutely delighted! My father and his seven brothers worked hard every day. The entire tribe—not just the chieftain, but many others—ate at the same time, so Mother helped those responsible for cooking to prepare food for everyone.

I noticed that these people were truly special! They always thought of others first and only took for themselves at the very end. Even when they were hungry, they would offer their food to others first, never fearing for their own hunger. Once, when Grandfather Chieftain gave me a rice ball, I smelled something strange. I took a bite, and I vomited—I vomited right in front of Grandfather Chieftain. He asked, "What is wrong? This is such a delicious rice ball, why did you vomit?" I asked him with innocent curiosity, "Grandfather, do you like Wawa?" He replied, "Of course I do! You are so cute." I asked again, "If you are hungry, will you eat Wawa?" Grandfather laughed and said, "Silly child, why would I eat you? Besides, you are the only boy in our family now; Grandfather will protect you." I told him that my father, mother, and I did not eat meat or fish, because the spirits of these animals could speak. When Grandfather heard about the stormy night and the giant fish that could talk, his eyes widened: "Then tomorrow, I will tell all the tribespeople that they must not eat meat or fish." I just smiled at Grandfather Chieftain, and we shared a knowing smile. Back in the tribe, I saw my parents were also very busy, but they were happy. Now, my most important duty was to accompany Grandfather, and every day was filled with joy.

The Vengeance of the Wild Boars

I gradually grew up, and by the age of fourteen, I had become a brave youth, having mastered various skills: archery, wrestling with the tribesmen, and grappling. Ever since Grandfather told the tribe that they could not eat meat or fish, some people did not understand and would secretly hide in caves to roast wild boar. This only reached Grandfather's ears recently. He asked me, "The tribespeople are stealing boar meat to eat; what should we do?" I told Grandfather to let everything take its natural course. Then, on a summer evening, two wild boars with long, sharp tusks appeared, running through the village as if searching for an enemy. They sniffed everywhere, urinated all over, and finally stopped at one house. One boar stood guard at the door while the other went inside, knocking the people over and causing them to cry out in pain. I rushed over, only to find that the family had been roasting boar meat on their table—no wonder they were found. I heard the screams from inside the house, and then the wild boars ran off.

I heard the news and followed the boars back to another cave. On the wall was a totem of a wild boar. The two boars vanished, entering the totem. I stood in front of the totem for a while and saw the world inside: it was filled with wild boars and many skeletal remains, with human beings standing beside each one. I even saw my father, my grandfather, and many of my tribespeople standing next to the remains. I understood. I knelt down before the boar totem and, on behalf of my father, grandfather, uncles, and the rest of the tribe, I apologised to the spirits of the boars. Because of my sincerity, the totem began to bleed red.

A Plea for Mercy

A voice emanated from within: "Why does every generation of your tribe only produce one child, regardless of gender? Your people are already suffering the consequences. The reason is that the ancestral spirit of our boar clan once possessed a wild boar, only to be slaughtered by your tribespeople, thus creating this hatred. Those gathered here in the totem are all those who were killed by your people, whether by blade or spear. We have now received the command to take revenge. In the coming days, we will carry out our plan, and you will see your people die one by one. We will take their lives while they sleep, so that humanity and your tribe will know that all beings are equal: you kill me, and I shall take my revenge." Hearing this, I hurriedly kowtowed several times, begging for forgiveness: "What can I do for my people? They truly do not understand that they have harmed you." I wept as I spoke, repenting for the bones of these wild boars. I begged the boar spirits again and again not to seek revenge: "Can I offer my own life in exchange for the lives of my people?" The boar spirits swirled around my head and body, telling me, "From the moment you were born until now, you have never eaten any meat." Seeing that my body was pure and trustworthy, these boar spirits decided to have me return the following afternoon. When I saw the bones of the boars in the totem with my own tribespeople—my father and grandfather—standing beside them, I felt truly heartbroken. I was sad not only for the boars but also for my own family. Why must there be mutual slaughter? Suddenly, a heart of compassion arose within me, and I broke down in tears.

The Path to a New Life

After leaving the cave, my mood remained heavy. I felt that humanity truly needed education. I recalled the boars saying, "We will never forgive them. Those who should have been boars, whether they ate them or killed them, should be reborn as boars when they die, for this is our curse." Upon returning to the tribe, I told Grandfather Chieftain everything I had encountered and asked him to tell everyone not to steal boar meat anymore; however, I did not mention that I would be going to the cave alone the next day. Grandfather listened to me, sensing the hidden meaning in my words, but he did not force me to reveal what was in my heart. The next afternoon, I arrived early at the cave and kowtowed fiercely before the boar totem, repenting deeply. I told the boars, "I represent them; they do not know how to respect your lives. I kowtow to you to admit my guilt and repent. Let all the sins be placed upon me alone. If you can agree to my wish, I am willing to take the punishment for my people." At that moment, the cave shook, and a large rock fell right beside me. The totem split in two, and a voice emerged: "So be it. Since you wish to take the punishment, then come inside!" Beside the totem was a door, and it beckoned me to enter. I followed the sound and walked inside. As I stepped in, the stone door closed behind me. I continued to walk forward, following the light.

I had arrived in another space—a space of the Buddha. It was a temple. I became the child of a woman. When I was born, I cried out, and I was startled by my own voice, for in my past life, I was called Wawa. Why had my body become so small? I was a little baby, a little boy! "Wah!" My eyes were round and large, and I looked around, my pupils circling: "Where is this?" I lay beside this unfamiliar woman. She served as a volunteer in the temple, and she smiled at me. Seeing her smiling face, I forgot my crying. I had become the son of this volunteer woman. Not long after, a monastic arrived; he was the father of this volunteer woman. He looked at me, nodded, and said, "Given this child's dignified appearance and his pure, unstained spirit, if he practices the Dharma, he will surely become a great vessel in the future." Mother said nothing.

Even as a small infant, I could somehow know what Mother was thinking. She was thinking: "Becoming a monastic is not something everyone can do. My child is so young; how can he become a monastic? Besides, he knows nothing. The temple has no master who can properly teach him. This child looks so much like his father; it is hard not to miss him. This child has such a hard life, born without a father. I must take good care of him. Of course, I cannot let him suffer, but in the end, I will still consider letting him become a monastic, because life is truly too bitter!"

At that moment, I finally understood why my mother never smiled. Beyond her longing for my father, she had not let go of the bitterness that defined her life. Even as a small child, I already knew how to interact with her. Whenever she held me in her arms to feed me, I would finish my meal and offer her a gentle smile. Seeing my expression, she would happily forget everything else. I spent my days eating and sleeping, growing quickly and smiling often, becoming a truly optimistic child.

A Child's First Steps in the Dharma

Every day, a venerable master would come to visit me—I suppose I should call him 'Grandfather Master.' Whenever he saw me, he would say, 'Namo Amituofo, little Bodhisattva!' I would just giggle in response. Gradually, I learned to speak. The first thing I learned to say was 'A.' I would 'A' for a long time. Grandfather Master would teach me 'A,' and I would 'A.' He would teach me 'Mi,' and I would 'A.' He would teach me 'Namo Amituofo,' and I would just 'A-A-A-A.' Grandfather Master would laugh heartily, and I found it quite funny too. He taught me at a fixed time every day, but the 'A' sound remained the clearest. One day, a cat wandered in from somewhere, and my mother said 'Meow, meow' to it. Surprisingly, I learned to say 'Meow' that very day. The next morning, when Grandfather Master came to teach me, he said, 'Namo Amituofo,' and I replied, 'A-Mi, A-Mi!' He was so delighted! He couldn't believe I had learned to say 'A-Mi' so quickly. He called me a clever child, saying I had mastered it in just a few attempts. He patiently taught me the full phrase every day, and after about six months, I could chant 'Namo Amituofo.' The most special thing was that whenever I chanted it, my face was always beaming with a smile. My mother loved hearing me chant it, and Grandfather Master loved it too; it was just different from anyone else. And so, I grew up slowly within the temple. By the time I was three, my mother often took me walking around the temple grounds. Many of the monastics on the mountain knew me, and whenever they saw me, they would call out, 'The little Bodhisattva is here! The little Bodhisattva is here!' Every time I went out to explore the temple, I would receive many gifts—prayer beads, small cards with images of Buddhas, candies, and biscuits. When I returned and gave these to my mother, she would tell me, 'Tomorrow, take these and share them with others to build karmic affinities.'

Uncovering the Family Secret

Deep in my little heart, ever since I could understand things, I sensed that my mother did not like interacting with people; she was quite reclusive. One day, I asked Grandfather, 'Why doesn't Mother like to smile? Why does she seem to dislike going to the temple?' Grandfather told me that it was because of my father. My mother disliked the temple because my father had wanted to become a monastic, and she had tried to stop him, leading to frequent arguments. Later, when she became pregnant with me, she thought it would keep him by her side, but he remained determined to leave the secular life. He abandoned my mother and became a monastic, and there had been no news of him since. So, that was the source of my mother's unhappiness—the truth was finally revealed! Grandfather Master smiled at me: 'Such a young child, yet you know how to care for your mother. When you grow up, you must become a monastic, for you are a little Bodhisattva who truly understands the thoughts and intentions of others.' I nodded at him with a smile, indicating that I would certainly become a monastic. Our eyes met, and we both shared a knowing smile.

A Vision of Infinite Buddhas

When I was five, Grandfather Master took me into the main hall of the temple. I saw a very, very large Buddha statue. I saw that this Buddha was entirely composed of Buddhas. If you asked me how many, I could only say they were countless; I didn't even know how to count that high. I told Grandfather Master what I saw. He looked at the statue, shook his head, and said there was only one Buddha. It turned out that what he saw was different from what I saw. I saw thousands of millions of Buddhas; even the hem and collar of the Buddha's robes were made of Buddhas.

After seeing that statue, I began to love going to the temple's meditation hall. I would wake up very early in the morning. Even though I was only five, I was nimble and quick. I would ask Grandfather Master to let me sweep and mop the floors, and I would always perform three prostrations before the Buddha statues. One afternoon, Grandfather brought a dignified-looking monastic to see me. He gestured for me to come over and asked me to press my palms together to greet this venerable master. I naturally joined my palms and said, 'Namo Amituofo, Master, how are you?' I spoke the greeting perfectly. The dignified master looked at me and said, 'Namo Amituofo, little Bodhisattva. Apply yourself diligently. You must practice well in the future so that you can fully realise your potential, but most importantly, you must be able to save others.' I didn't quite understand what it meant to 'realise my potential,' but I knew that 'saving others' meant I could help many people. I nodded, 'When I grow up, I want to be like both of you and save many people.' The master then took a string of prayer beads from his hand and gave them to me: 'Every day, you can use these beads. Hold them in your hand and chant the Buddha's name as you move each bead.' The dignified master then left with Grandfather. I held the beads in my hand, feeling so happy! They even had a faint, sweet scent—the fragrance of sandalwood.

A Family United in the Dharma

I brought the prayer beads home and told my mother about what had happened that day. After listening, she didn't speak for a moment, then asked, 'Child, do you know who that dignified master was?' 'He was just the dignified master! But Grandfather should know, right?' My mother then smiled, 'He still remembers me after all. Even though he didn't come to see me, the fact that he came to the temple shows that I am still in his heart.' I didn't understand what she meant, so I asked, 'What are you talking about? I don't understand what you mean by being in his heart.' My mother told me, 'Child, he is your father—the father who abandoned me, who abandoned us.' I immediately replied, 'Oh! No wonder he kept looking at me and seemed so kind; so I am his son.' My heart was filled with joy because I saw my mother smile so brightly for the first time. I was not a child without a father; I had a father, and he was a dignified monastic. Our whole family now studied the Dharma. At that moment, I felt like the happiest person in the world—Grandfather studied the Dharma, Father studied the Dharma, and Mother studied the Dharma. I laughed happily. Our whole family had karmic affinity with the Buddha, and I remembered that Buddha statue again, with its entire body radiating light.

The Path of the Little Monk

From the day I met that dignified master, the thought that I would one day be a dignified monastic like him took root in my mind. Every day, I went to the temple to perform chores with great care. To save beings, I decided to become a monastic as early as possible. When I was seven, Grandfather Master told me, 'You still don't have a Dharma name. Would you like to ask the temple abbot to help you take refuge and give you one?' I agreed immediately, 'Of course!' On an auspicious day, Grandfather took me up the mountain to meet the abbot. To my surprise, my mother, who had previously not supported my becoming a monastic, came along. She felt that my qualities were different from other children and that entering the temple for quiet practice early would be of greater benefit to me, allowing me to help more people in the future. Because I was accustomed to life on the mountain, I was naturally happy to accept Grandfather's suggestion to move into the temple and begin my practice. Since I was young, I bid farewell to my mother and followed Grandfather to the temple. Although it was only a short distance, I knew in my heart that I couldn't keep saying I wanted to go home. When my mother dropped me off on the mountain, she felt conflicted and held my hand very, very tightly. I suddenly looked up at her with a grin, 'Mother, since you are the only one at home, you can come up to the mountain too!'

A week later, my mother actually moved to the mountain and became a long-term volunteer, which finally put my mind at ease. When Grandfather Master asked the abbot on my behalf to let me become a monastic, the abbot looked me over from head to toe and nodded, 'Such a pure child—it is a tremendous blessing to be able to become a monastic!' I looked at the abbot with an innocent smile. The abbot gave me the Dharma name 'Shi Jinglan.' At seven years old, I began my life as a monastic. I was the youngest in the entire temple. Seeing how young I was, the abbot gave me the lightest work: helping in the kitchen by burning firewood for the other monastics to cook. Lighting the 'mother fire' every day was the most troublesome task. Once the fire was lit, I would hand it over to the monastics responsible for cooking, and they would be busy all day.

One time, the abbot came to see me while I was lighting the firewood, my face covered in soot. He asked, 'Are you encountering any difficulties while lighting the fire in the kitchen?' I told him, 'Every time I light it and blow on it, the fire goes out. Or, if I see it's lit and move the nearby wood closer, it goes out again. Am I too young for this job? It takes so much time to light this fire every day, and it even makes the brothers in the kitchen nervous; if I can't get it lit, they can't cook. Sometimes, when they see me being clumsy, they just light it for me.' The abbot smiled slightly at Jinglan and said, 'Practice is not about age; it is about this one heart. If you say you can do it, you can; if you say you cannot, you cannot. Why not change your perspective and see yourself as making progress in your practice every day?' I told the abbot, 'I don't understand, Master, I am only seven!' At that moment, the master asked another brother to take over my work.

The Venerable took me for a walk around the temple grounds and asked, "Jinglan, you are only seven years old this year—who told you to become a monastic? Did someone force you?" I replied, "No, Master! It was my own wish to become a monastic." The Venerable then asked, "What is your purpose in becoming a monastic?" I simply answered, "I want to save people." He pressed further, "And how do you intend to save them?" Little Jinglan was stumped; I had no words. The Venerable asked, "By crying, throwing tantrums, or making excuses?" Hearing this, I felt like crying! My mind went completely blank. Seeing my tears, the Venerable did not stop me; he let me cry. After a while, he took a steamed bun from his pocket and told me to eat it slowly. Strangely, I found myself eating it with joy, and it tasted quite sweet. Once I finished, I stopped crying. The Venerable asked, "Who was that timid, tearful child from just a moment ago?" I said, "That was me!" He asked again, "Then who are you now?" I replied, "It is still me!" These seemingly simple questions shook my heart to its core. I understood—I was no longer just a seven-year-old child.

The Weight of a Vow

The Venerable continued, "In our entire temple, not a single monastic has claimed they want to save the world. Most are here to cultivate their health and heal their own suffering." He then looked at me and said, "Jinglan, you have gained great merit from your past practice. Now, you have the opportunity to make a vow to save beings, using the unique abilities you have mastered to deliver them." I paused for a moment and asked, "Master, how do you know all of this?" He replied, "I can see that your spirit is exceptionally pure, unlike that of ordinary people; it is merely residing within this child's body." I suddenly awakened: Who am I really? How could I be speaking these words to the Venerable? I fell silent. He said, "Jinglan, do not overthink it. Let everything follow its natural Causal Conditions."

A Shift in Time and Space

After that conversation with the Venerable, I suddenly felt as though I had grown up—not like a seven-year-old, but like a fourteen-year-old. Then, suddenly, I felt seventeen! At that moment, I could not hear a single word the Venerable said. My head began to spin, as if a powerful force was pulling at me. The strength of it was so overwhelming that I felt as though I were being dragged away. My expression must have been one of pure panic, for the Venerable shouted loudly, "Shi Jinglan! Shi Jinglan! Come back to me!" With a loud "thud," I collapsed to the ground. At that moment, my spirit was in another space, back in that cave with the wild boar totem. It turned out that my tribal grandfather had invited the shaman to bring my spirit back to the tribe. All the tribespeople were kneeling, begging the ancestral spirits to let me live. They already knew that I had taken their place in escaping a calamity, sparing them from the curse of the wild boar ancestor. Because their sincerity was such a powerful energy of Goodness, they pulled me back once more. My grandfather, unable to bear losing me, kept calling out by my side, "Wawa! Wawa!" My eyes slowly opened, and all the tribespeople, along with my father and mother, were stomping their feet on the ground in relief. What a joyous day it was! My mother gave me a few sips of water, and the tribespeople danced to celebrate my return to life, lighting torches and singing the song I knew best: "Ah-ah-woo-woo-wa-wa, ah-ah-woo-woo-wa-wa."

The Vigil of the Monastics

Back at the temple, the abbot kept my body warm, fearing I might catch a chill. He invited my mother to care for me, instructing her to recite the Buddha-name and the holy name of Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva at all times, and to notify him immediately if I woke up. The abbot understood that I was in a state where my spirit and body were separated, so he felt there was no need to explain further to my mother.

A Mystery of the Spirit

The next day, the dignified monastic who was my father in this life received the news and came to check on me. Seeing that my complexion and vital signs were normal, he discussed with the abbot how to save this child. As they spoke about my life from birth until now, they both felt that my spirit was uniquely pure. They shared the same thought: "We have never seen anyone like this. Could he be from another world?" My father then asked the abbot to enter samadhi to observe where my spirit had gone. With the abbot's consent, my father, the abbot, and my mother lit incense in the abbot's quarters to pray for the Buddha's blessing. After about four hours, the dignified monastic returned and told the abbot, "Jinglan's spirit has been drawn to an ancient tribe. Could you please help perform a Dharma assembly to resolve his disasters and pray for blessings?" The abbot agreed, and while he conducted the Dharma assembly, my father helped protect my physical body.

The Final Mission

At the same time, back in the tribe, Wawa was reunited with family. The comfort of my kin and the warmth of the tribe were touching, but I could not truly find peace. I felt that a mission remained unfinished. I hurried to find my grandfather and explained everything that had happened when I entered the totem cave: "Grandfather, there is one thing I have not finished. I want to make one last effort." My grandfather supported my idea and told the tribe that Wawa would go on a long journey of exploration so that the world might know of their kindness and pray for my grandson. That evening, the tribe sang a song of blessing. I packed the gifts they had given me and set off alone. I returned to the wild boar totem cave, knelt before it, performed three prostrations, and walked toward the light. I walked further and further until I saw my temple.

Awakening to the Path

I was back in my child's body. I saw the familiar, dignified monastic, my mother who rarely smiled but was now filled with worry, and the abbot standing guard at the door. The dignified monastic said, "He has returned!" As I re-entered this pure, undefiled body and slowly opened my eyes, my mother rejoiced, "Namo Amituofo! Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva! You have returned, you have come back to life!" The dignified monastic paused, and the abbot came over to hold my hands; my body temperature was rising. The four of us shared a knowing smile—I had come back to life! I thought of my mission—I wanted to save many people—and I smiled too. Everything was as it should be. Because of this event, my mental maturity jumped from seven to over ten years old, and my awareness was twice that of an ordinary child. In my heart, I silently thanked my grandfather, the Venerable, and my parents in this life. From that day on, I worked hard at my practice, cultivating my ability to save the world, utilizing the capabilities I had brought from the past, and propagating the Buddha’s teachings. I would no longer be angry at my young age or my inability to start a fire. Now, I am learning everything. The abbot began to teach me how to become a person who saves the world. He took me to see what suffering is, what it means to be content, and showed me those who truly needed help. He also let me observe all kinds of insects and birds related to the spirit realm. All things are transformed by spirits; their spirits are the same as ours, but because of their thoughts and the karmic retribution of their past actions, they have become what they are today.

A Life Dedicated to Deliverance

As I unraveled the suffering of the Body-Mind-Spirit, seeing people in such misery, I could not help but shed tears. Why, in such a difficult world, do they not know how to wake up? Why, in such a tragic environment, do they not know compassion and contentment? All of these experiences nurtured my spirit and helped me become a monastic who saves the world—one who can care for every person who needs it, transform every person's mental note, and make the Buddha’s teachings a great Dharma that everyone can learn.

From the age of seven to twenty, over thirteen years, the abbot trained me continuously. With my sensitive awareness, I developed channels of communication with all things in the universe, including flowers, plants, and trees. Because of the clarity of my spirit, one glance at an animal or plant was enough to see what needed healing. Most of the time, I used the Buddha-name of Namo Amituofo or the holy name of Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva to help plants revive, to make fruit trees bear abundant harvests, and to help them take refuge. My spirit was extremely pure. Whenever someone with an illness came to me, my spirit would immediately sense what their karmic creditors were trying to express—whether they were demanding repayment or harboring resentment—and I would guide them in repenting and performing Chao Du. Ultimately, the reduction of pain came primarily from sincere repentance and continued practice, gradually resolving the conflict with their karmic creditors. If these individuals entered the temple to become monastics, they could be even more sincere, without complaints, shedding their worldly habits bit by bit. As they changed, their karmic creditors would leave, group by group.

When I was twenty, blessed by the Buddha's power, I opened the ability to communicate with and heal various spirits. Just as I had experienced the healing of spatial transformation, the basic condition was the vow made to the Buddha. The vow I made at that time was to save the world and save people; all these Causal Conditions fulfilled the requirements for me to become a monastic. The abbot specifically created a convenience for the public to come to the temple. For those seeking help at the temple to attend a Dharma assembly, we would first observe how long their karmic creditors had been following them, the reason for it, and which space they had created enmity with. Then, we would counsel them on how to use a sincere heart to resolve the conflict with their karmic creditors in that space. The most important thing was to listen to sutras and hear the Dharma, so that their karmic creditors could understand that the cycle of revenge is endless. By empathizing with the suffering of the karmic creditors in different spaces, we would beg for resolution. Such actions also required long-term prostrations, repentance, and the changing of one's habits. Namo Amituofo.

Every year, the temple holds two major Dharma assemblies, inviting the local community to participate. During these gatherings, we provide teachings on the laws of karma and cause and effect to the karmic creditors. Most importantly, we introduce every attendee to the profound significance of Namo Amituofo and the boundless compassion of Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva. These causal conditions are truly magnificent, bringing great joy to all sentient beings. As one such assembly was drawing to a close, my monastic father arrived at the temple and invited me to join him at his own temple to help heal those suffering from illnesses. I immediately sought the guidance of our abbot, and following his arrangements, we decided to hold a joint Dharma assembly between the two temples.

A Mission of Healing and Training

I suggested to the abbot that we first gather the monastics from both temples. I would then share my experiences on how to purify oneself, how to communicate with spirits, and finally, how to perform healing. We structured this into three distinct stages. The logic was simple: if more people learned these skills, we could save more beings. With the abbot's approval, we launched a six-month intensive training programme. Those with the strongest resolve were given priority. The daily routine consisted of prostrations, reciting the Sutras, and listening to Dharma talks. After three months, we began testing our own purification and practicing spirit-to-spirit communication with the beings of the earth and nature. Following this, we applied the power of compassion while chanting the Buddha-name.

Six months later, thirty monastics across both temples were able to communicate with spirits. We focused our study on the terrifying nature of karmic retribution. Once the intensive training concluded, everyone continued their individual practice. After another six months, I personally evaluated their progress; those who passed were then permitted to begin helping others with healing. The primary prerequisite for these candidates was a minimum of ten years of foundational Buddhist study, ensuring they could approach the work of saving beings with a truly compassionate heart. Out of the thirty who trained, twenty successfully passed. Throughout that year, the temple began conducting healing and Chao Du Dharma assemblies. As our reputation grew, more people sought our help. We assisted spirits in resolving their suffering, guided them to take refuge, and performed Chao Du during the assemblies. We maintained this practice for an entire year. Finally, to help these twenty monastics further purify their hearts and strengthen their vows, I took them to a stone cave to carve statues. Each of them used their own hands, chisel by chisel, to carve the Buddha or Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva they envisioned, creating dignified images for future generations to venerate.

Reflections on the Nature of Reality

To escape the cycle of samsara, one must never dismiss a small act of Goodness as insignificant, nor commit a small act of evil thinking it is harmless. Do not commit any evil; instead, diligently practise all forms of Goodness. Because I had experienced the shifting of spaces, my sensitivity to these realms was far more refined than that of an ordinary person. I could clearly perceive which spirits were approaching and understand the turbidity of their own spiritual states. I dedicated this entire life to the Buddha’s teachings, giving Dharma talks and explaining the profound mysteries of the spirit body.

It was only after listening to the Dharma talks given by Practitioner Su that I realised how insufficient my own learning had been. How could one possibly calculate the number of spirits and attachments residing within the space of fifty trillion cells? I finally understood that all phenomena are created by the heart. True ability lies only in the compassionate and widespread salvation of all beings, enabling them to return to the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss, rather than becoming attached to the mere chanting of a Buddha-name or a Bodhisattva’s name. Through learning, making vows, and embodying the heart of the Buddha and the vows of the Bodhisattvas, one can be saved. My daily diligent practice was solely for the purpose of saving sentient beings. I vowed to follow Practitioner Su in this mission. I left the human world at the age of forty-nine and entered the Bodhisattva Dharma Realm. Having heard Practitioner Su’s teachings, I now vow to return in the future to save beings, walking alongside him. I am filled with gratitude to the Buddha and to Practitioner Su.

Namo Amituofo.

A Dialogue on the Path of Deliverance

Disciple Haize respectfully asks the Bodhisattva Shi Jinglan:

1. Bodhisattva, you have the ability to save the world and deliver others; surely your lifespan could have been much longer, perhaps even a hundred years. Why did you leave the human world at only forty-nine?

2. When you were saving beings, did they seek you out?

3. How many spirits did you save, and to which Dharma Realm did they go?

Shi Jinglan replies:

1. With palms joined, I offer my gratitude for Practitioner Su’s compassion, which allows me to explain this to you all. At that time, when I invited spirits for healing, I could not truly resolve their conflicts. I was unable to send the karmic creditors and spirits of those I healed to the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. Most of them were reincarnated into the human world or other spaces. Depending on their individual blessings and causal conditions, only a very small number were sent to the first level of the Heaven Realm during our Chao Du Dharma assemblies.

2. When I was saving spirits, their karmic creditors could not be resolved. These grievances remained within me, as the spirits still harboured resentment and demanded retribution from me. I would counsel them, and the Chao Du assemblies would provide some relief or temporary release, but those who refused to leave remained attached to my body. Furthermore, in recruiting disciples to engage in purification and the salvation of beings, I had to shoulder a heavy responsibility. My suffering body also carried the spirits attached to my disciples, and I alone was clearly aware of this. At that time, I did not exclusively hold the six-syllable name of Namo Amituofo; I sometimes mixed it with the name of Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva. It is only when one holds the six-syllable name of Namo Amituofo with a pure, undefiled heart that the body becomes pure and the heart becomes clear. Only then does one truly realise the majestic power of the name Namo Amituofo.

Sometimes, by reciting the name of Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva, I could not resolve the grievances with the karmic creditors one by one. The most important thing is for them to listen to the Dharma and hear the teachings, so that the karmic creditors understand that the cycle of revenge is endless. Because I listened to too few Dharma talks, and because of the differences in our spaces, it was difficult for me to empathise with the suffering of the karmic creditors, and my pleas for resolution were ineffective. If one engages in long-term prostrations and repenting, and truly changes one's habits, it becomes easier to resolve conflicts with karmic creditors. Without true repentance and genuine Chao Du, very few spirits are actually able to depart.

3. Because Practitioner Su possesses the Dharma Body to save spirits, and my own skills were not yet perfected, I could not help spirits reach the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. Although I had the vow, I could not fulfil it. At the age of forty-nine, my entire body was entangled and possessed by karmic creditors, leaving me unable to move. During my meditation, I focused on the name of Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva, leading all the spirits attached to my body to chant the name of Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva together. I did not chant Namo Amituofo, and thus I could not be reborn in the Western Land. In the end, I reached the Bodhisattva Dharma Realm.

Namo Amituofo.

This interview was recorded and written by the disciple Shi Haize.

Note: As there was no language or text at the time, communication occurred only through simple sounds, body language, or eye contact. Therefore, the descriptions and dialogues regarding the interactions between the sage and his parents, grandfather, others, and animals like birds and fish are interpretations of their body language and intent, translated into text. In reality, there were no spoken dialogues; the text is used solely to help the reader understand the meaning.