The Life and Deliverance of Zhu Ruide

This is a record of an interview with Zhu Ruide, 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 life and his subsequent journey through the realms of samsara. Recorded by the chief writer, Shi Fa, on October 9, 2021.

Zhu Ruide speaks:

"Namo Amituofo. The beauty of the human world, no matter how exquisite it may seem, always carries a lingering, subtle taste of bitterness. It is a world of impermanence where even the most beautiful moments are fleeting. But the beauty here in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss is truly flawless, pure, and radiant. My heart has followed suit, becoming incomparably pure and transparent, washed clean of the dust of the mortal world.

Ruide and the fifty-nine other prison guards have arrived in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. We have prostrated before the Buddha, offering our deepest, most sincere gratitude for the boundless compassion of the Buddha and the profound compassion of Practitioner Su. Without their guidance, we would still be trapped in the endless cycle of suffering.

The Shifting Lens of Life

When I speak of life, my heart is filled with a complex tapestry of emotions. It is the same life of Zhu Ruide, yet when I reflect upon it at different stages, the feelings are always distinct, like looking at the same landscape through different coloured lenses. Whether I look back at my life from the perspective of being ten, twenty, thirty, fifty, or sixty years old, or even from the vantage point of after my death, each stage offers a completely different understanding of what it means to exist.

I remember when I was ten, I had a dream. I hoped that when I grew up, I would become a famous person known to everyone. I thought that if I were famous, people would come from far and wide just to see me, and in doing so, they would buy my father's bamboo baskets. I was so simple-minded! I only wanted to help my father sell more of his handiwork. When I told him, he laughed and said, 'Silly child! If you became a famous person, why would your father still need to toil away weaving bamboo baskets?' I immediately patted my own head and said, 'That is true! I am so foolish. If I became famous, I could support the whole family on my own; there would be no need for Father to suffer so much!'

The Calluses of Filial Piety

Every bamboo basket and utensil in our home was woven by Father’s hardworking hands. Whenever he held my hand, beyond the warmth of his touch, I could feel the thick, rough calluses on his palms. I once opened his hands to count them—there were ten calluses in total. As it happened, there were ten children in our family. I told my siblings, 'Father uses one callus to raise one of us; ten calluses to raise ten children. Every single callus is the result of years of Father’s hard work weaving baskets. We must be filial to Father and Mother, or we would not be worthy of the parents who raised us.'

My siblings agreed wholeheartedly. In our village, we were praised as the ten most filial children. Every one of us learned to help with chores from a very young age. My youngest sister, who was only one year old, had the responsibility of being quiet. As long as she followed her schedule for eating and sleeping, it saved Mother so much time. She was incredibly obedient, never crying or making a fuss, even when Mother was late to feed her. The villagers loved her dearly and always vied for the chance to hold her, praising her gentle nature.

A Life of Shared Responsibility

My three-year-old brother took it upon himself to sweep the floors. He was so diligent that he would sweep the house after every meal, doing it twice if necessary until the floor was spotless. We lived in the mountains, and our water came from the purest spring. My eldest and second brothers would carry large wooden buckets to fetch water, while my sisters aged eight and six handled the cooking. My five and four-year-old sisters helped with preparing vegetables and cleaning. The laundry was the responsibility of my twelve-year-old brother and eight-year-old brother, who carried the clothes to the communal washing area in the village, where they would scrub and rinse until the fabrics were clean.

We even helped Father with his work. My eldest brother was an expert at selecting the best bamboo—he could tell at a glance which stalks were mature enough, flexible enough, and had the right spacing between the nodes. After he cut them, my second brother would split them into equal strips for Father. Father’s hands were so skilled that his baskets were more beautiful than anything a machine could produce. People would always stop to marvel at them, and their admiration was a source of great pride for us.

My own job was to take the finished baskets to the market. It was a task I shared with my younger siblings. We became well-known at the market because our business was excellent and our prices were fair. Eventually, we expanded our offerings; my eldest brother made small bamboo toys, and I created new, decorative utensils. Customers often praised us, saying that the children had truly surpassed the master. It was a time of simple, honest labour.

The Transition of Adulthood

When I was ten, life felt fresh, fun, and full of wonder. But by the time I was twenty, things had changed. My older brothers had married and moved out, and our small house could no longer hold us all. The family dynamic shifted, and I took over the responsibilities previously held by my brothers. I began to realise that family life is not static; it is a process of constant change. I started to understand that once a moment passes, it never returns, making every day precious. I learned to cherish the fleeting nature of our time together.

By the time I was thirty, the household had changed even more. Father had passed the weaving work entirely to me. My siblings were busy with their own lives, and when we gathered for festivals, the house would be bustling with the noise of their children. I asked my eldest brother what life was like after marriage, and he told me, 'It brings a new sense of responsibility. I understand now how hard Father worked just to ensure we didn't have to worry about our next meal.' My sisters, too, spoke of the challenges of balancing children, household duties, and the loss of personal time. Seeing their lives, I began to wonder: what was the true purpose of my own life? Was it merely to survive and perpetuate the cycle?

The Path of Compassion

One day at the market, a bamboo basket was stolen. I saw a child running away and chased after him. When I caught him, he was terrified and knelt to beg for forgiveness. I helped him up and asked what was wrong. It turned out his parents were gravely ill, and he was desperate for money. I accompanied him home and gave him money for their medicine. When he asked if he could learn to weave, I was overjoyed and agreed immediately. It was a turning point in my life.

He became my first apprentice. He was about nine years old and learned quickly. After him, I took in several other children from impoverished backgrounds, teaching them a trade so they could support themselves. When I began teaching, my life took on a new meaning. I realised that one could live not just for oneself, but for others. Life became light, joyful, and full of vitality. I found that by helping others, I was also helping myself to grow.

Reflections from the Western Pure Land

In my forties, I cared for my own parents through their final illnesses. It was then I truly understood that the later stages of life are defined by the suffering of sickness, old age, and death. After they passed, I remained alone, dedicating my time to helping others in every way I could. Looking back now, from the perspective of the Western Pure Land, I feel a deep sense of regret that I did not encounter the Buddha’s teachings during my life. If I could do it all over again, I would not only help others, but I would also study the Dharma to help all beings achieve liberation and leave suffering behind forever.

My acts of kindness in that life led me to serve as a prison guard in the hell realms after death. There, I followed instructions, but it was only after listening to Practitioner Su’s Dharma talks that I truly understood the suffering of the cycle of rebirth. The hells are a place of immense, unrelenting pain, and I am grateful to have been pulled from that darkness. Today, I am incredibly fortunate to have been guided by Practitioner Su to the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. My heart is filled with infinite gratitude. I am grateful for the compassion of the Buddha and the compassion of Practitioner Su. Namo Amituofo."