This is a record of an interview with the 185th Venerable, Zhu Maohuai, who sought Spiritual Deliverance at the Hsiang Kuang Buddhist Centre in Australia. He now resides in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. This account reflects upon his life approximately 175 years ago. Recorded by the chief writer, Shi Fa Jing, on July 29, 2019.
Zhu Maohuai speaks:
". I am Zhu Maohuai. I stand before you today to share a story from a lifetime long ago, a life defined by the haunting echoes of the unseen and the eventual discovery of the light of the Buddha. It is my hope that by sharing these memories, others may find the courage to look beyond the veil of this world and seek the true path to liberation.
The Haunting Melody in the Walls
I remember it so clearly, even after all these years. I would stand in the middle of my room, staring into the empty air, and call out loudly, 'Who is singing?' This strange phenomenon had been occurring for months. Every night, as the clock struck midnight, a woman’s voice would drift from within the very walls of my home. She sang songs of such profound sorrow, such heart-wrenching grief, that I would often shiver, my skin crawling with an inexplicable chill. How could a voice carry so much agony? I would rush to my parents' room, desperate for answers. 'Father, Mother, do you hear that? Someone is singing!' But they would only look at me with confusion and say, 'We hear nothing but the crickets outside. There is no one singing.' I would return to my room, utterly bewildered, my heart heavy with the question: 'What on earth is happening?'
At that time, I was a twelve-year-old boy. In the eyes of my village, I was already a young man, approaching the age of adulthood. I possessed all the emotions and desires common to people in this world. My father told me that if I could find a suitable partner by the time I turned twenty, he would bestow upon me a grand gift. In our region, marriage was the ultimate goal for every young person. It was common to see couples who had barely turned twenty already raising four or five children. If a man passed his twentieth year without being wed, he was considered 'past his prime,' and finding a partner became nearly impossible. Such marriages were often looked down upon, as if the window of blessing had already closed.
The Burden of Social Expectations
My parents were not worried about my character; they were only worried about my marriage. While I wanted to remain a child, playing and exploring the world, my parents were already actively arranging meetings with potential brides. I had absolutely no interest in these activities. I would sit at the dinner table, watching one young woman after another being paraded before me. They were shy and modest, the kind of women many men would dream of, but for some reason, I felt nothing. Not a spark, not a flutter of the heart. I even began to doubt myself: 'Am I not a man?' I would treat them with such cold indifference that my mother would eventually send them away. I did not want them to waste their precious youth on me. After all, once a woman passed twenty, she was cruelly labelled an 'old woman,' and I had no desire to marry a house full of such women.
My true talent lay in painting. I could capture any subject with such vivid realism that it felt as though the image might step off the canvas at any moment. Strangely, my best works were portraits of women. I did not understand it myself—I had no romantic interest in them, yet I could capture every nuance of their expression, every subtle movement, every graceful posture with uncanny precision. If you didn't look closely, you would swear a real woman was standing right in front of you.
The Haunted Portrait
One day, while wandering the streets, I saw a woman whose face was etched with such profound sorrow that I felt compelled to capture it. I hurried home and immediately painted her into my sketchbook. From that night on, the crying in my room intensified. Sometimes it was a mournful song, other times it was the recitation of tragic love poetry. Every ounce of her despair was poured directly into my ears. When I had finished a collection of works, I took them to town to sell. The moment I displayed them, a crowd gathered. They were amazed by the realism of my art, and soon, the paintings began to sell. The very first one to be purchased was the portrait of the sorrowful woman. The buyer was a middle-aged man whose own face mirrored the melancholy of the woman in the painting. When he saw her, he looked as if he were staring into a mirror of his own soul. He paid for it immediately and took it home. Strangely, the moment the painting left my possession, the crying stopped. I shuddered, terrified to think that the spirit had been trapped within the ink and paper all along.
The next morning, the painting was returned. The man who bought it was so terrified he could barely speak, stammering only, 'There... there is a ghost!' before throwing the canvas at my stall and fleeing. When I picked it up, the painting actually vibrated in my hands. I felt a cold dread wash over me. My parents, seeing my deteriorating mental state, demanded to know what was happening. When I told them about the painting, they turned pale with fear. They immediately summoned a Taoist priest to perform an exorcism. The priest chanted incantations, made strange hand gestures, and finally prepared to set the painting on fire. 'Stop!' I screamed. I could not let him burn it. I felt a strange, protective instinct—if there was truly a spirit inside, burning it would only lead to disaster. My parents were furious, threatening to stop speaking to me entirely unless I allowed the destruction of the painting. I was trapped in a dilemma, not knowing how to resolve this.
The Monk’s Revelation
I continued to sell my paintings, and one day, a monk approached my stall. He said, 'Every portrait you paint contains a spirit. You have painted so many women, and each one has a spirit attached to it. You must chant the Buddha’s name to save them.' I was stunned. 'Why are they in my paintings?' I asked. The monk explained, 'These spirits are already wandering in space. Because your paintings resemble them or capture their emotions, they are attracted to them and attach themselves to the canvas.' I was incredulous. 'Why are they still wandering in space?' I asked. The monk replied, 'There are many reasons. Without the teachings of the Buddha, people are bound by their own attachments. Once there is attachment, it is difficult to leave the space of the six realms of existence. These women are all attached to their emotions, which is why they remain trapped.' I gathered all my paintings and held a Assembly, inviting the monk to perform for these lost souls.
After this event, my mind was in turmoil. I thought of our village—everyone was obsessed with romance. Before they were even twenty, they were married, and their children would soon follow the same path. Everyone was attached to their families and their emotions. But where did they go after death? Were husbands and wives still together? Would families reunite? I returned to the temple to ask the master. He shook his head and said, 'It is difficult. Because their mental notes are different, they reincarnate in different places. Perhaps the wife becomes an animal, while the husband suffers in the hells. How can they reunite?' In that moment, I understood: the love everyone clings to is an illusion. Once is gone, the connection vanishes. They would not even recognise each other on the street, unaware that the person they are arguing with was once their own family member.
The Sorrow of the World
I walked back to the village, chanting Namo Amituofo. I saw my old classmate, who had left school only a few years prior. He looked as though he had aged decades. He was now a father of three, struggling to feed his family, with another child on the way. He was exhausted, his dreams of a career crushed by the weight of his responsibilities. I also saw my younger sister, who had married at twelve. When I finally saw her again, she was worn down, her face full of hidden sorrow. Seeing them, I became even more convinced that the path of worldly marriage was a trap of suffering. I decided to leave. I could have inherited my family's wealth and lived a life of luxury, but I knew that would not bring me happiness. I set out on a journey, witnessing the birth, aging, sickness, and death that no one could escape. I realised that only where the Buddha’s teachings exist, and where people truly believe and practise, can there be a different kind of light.
After three years of wandering, I arrived at a village that felt different. The air was filled with a faint, sweet fragrance, and the people were not sorrowful, but filled with . I saw no women, only men, each busy with their own tasks, rarely speaking. The plants were enormous and vibrant, and the very ground seemed to pulse with life. As I walked, I began to hear a faint sound of Buddha-name chanting. My heart grew calm, and the sound became clearer. I followed the chanting through a forest of magnificent, spiritual plants, until I reached a vast plain with a winding river. The fish in the river were brilliant, their mouths moving in rhythm with the chanting. Every step I took felt light and free.
The Magnificent Land of Buddha
I reached the source of the chanting and was struck with awe. A group of residents sat on the grass, dressed in white, chanting Namo Amituofo with such power that it seemed to pierce through space itself. I sat behind them and joined in. As I chanted, a soft, powerful force opened my chest, and my heart became perfectly still. I realised this was a place where the Buddha truly resided. I wanted to share this joy with the world. I eventually became a monk, serving as an abbot and spreading the Dharma until my final days, when I passed away while chanting, riding a lotus to the Western Pure Land. I am forever grateful for the Buddha’s .
Where is the Buddha? The Buddha is in the heart of every believer. Practitioner Su is one who truly believes. With a mind-capacity as vast as the Dharma Realm, Practitioner Su saves countless spirits. Every morning, when the chanting begins, Practitioner Su’s manifests in countless forms, breaking through layers of space to save those who have suffered for centuries. Every speck of dust can be saved by Practitioner Su, transforming evil into Goodness and guiding all to follow Namo Amituofo to the Western Pure Land. The spirits of the spiritual realms are fortunate, for they have waited centuries for this light. It is only the human beings who are often blinded by doubt, which is a great pity. I pray that every Buddhist practitioner can be as courageous and fearless as Practitioner Su, carrying the burden of the Buddha’s mission to save the world. Thank you, Practitioner Su, for your compassion. Namo Amituofo."
