The Reincarnation and Early Life of Master Zhangjia

The Sacred Connection

On the fifteenth of May, 2017, Venerable Fa Xin performed ten prostrations to pay respects to the spirit of Master Zhangjia. With deep reverence, he invited the Master to share his wisdom, saying, "Master, you are always in a state of meditative concentration, never wavering. Your profound meditative concentration is truly inconceivable. Could you please share with us the journey of your practice so that we, as your juniors, may learn from your path? We humbly ask for your compassion. Namo Amituofo."

Master Zhangjia replied with warmth, "Fa Xin, Fa Jing, and Fa Xi, you were all my beloved disciples in the past. How magnificent it is that after so many years, we are reunited here at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre. That we can communicate through this medium is truly a testament to the inconceivable nature of this Buddha-land. You three must cherish this opportunity deeply; do not let a single moment pass in vain."

Venerable Fa Xin replied, "Yes, Master. Namo Amituofo."

The Prophecy of the Purple-Gold Light

Master Zhangjia continued, "I am the successor to the nineteenth Lama. Before I passed away in my previous life, I had already left behind clues regarding where I would be reborn. I left behind written notes and whispered instructions, indicating that I would be born into a family of nomadic herders in a village in the East. I specified that at the moment of my birth, a purple-gold light would appear in the sky. I told them that if they searched this village, they would surely find me, and it would not be too difficult.

The elders waited with great care and anticipation for that day to arrive. Because the instructions did not specify the exact day or hour, they had to remain incredibly vigilant. They prepared themselves with the utmost sincerity. When the day finally arrived, in the late afternoon, a brilliant purple-gold light suddenly shot across the eastern sky. Upon witnessing this, the elders immediately packed their belongings and set out toward the East.

The Search for the Reincarnated Lama

It took three months to reach the eastern region. Travelling across the vast desert was no easy task, and the road conditions were poor, making the journey arduous. Only after great effort did they finally reach the cluster of villages. After explaining their purpose and consulting the village head, they learned which family had welcomed a child three months prior. The village head was astonished, finding it hard to believe that such a small, humble village could be the birthplace of a saviour Lama.

Upon further inquiry, the village head noted that two families had recently had children—one boy and one girl. The elders proceeded to the home of the boy. The family kept some cattle and sheep, though they were not strictly nomadic. When the elders saw the infant, they found him to be adorable, with rosy cheeks and deep, blue, sparkling eyes. The elders approached the parents, explaining that this child was likely the saviour whom all of Mongolia revered. They requested that the parents allow them to take the child back to be nurtured and educated. They assured the parents that the child would receive the finest care and education, and they asked the parents to let go and fulfil this noble purpose. They explained that they had to visit other villages but would return to collect the child, asking the parents to prepare themselves mentally for this great future for their son.

It was clear that the parents were deeply reluctant to part with their child, as he was their only son. The elders then asked the village head if there were other nearby villages to visit. The village head pointed them toward the southwest, where the houses were spread far apart, which better suited the nomadic lifestyle. The group travelled in that direction, finding the dwellings to be quite dilapidated. Upon inquiring, they learned that the region was suffering from a severe drought, and the inhabitants were primarily nomadic. The man they spoke to explained that the entire village moved together. The elders spoke with great sincerity, asking if any children had been born during their recent travels. The man, who wore a fur hat and had a lean, weathered face, pondered for a long time. He was unsure if he should speak, fearing the parents' reaction, yet he felt that this was a virtuous cause. After much hesitation, he led the elders to a distant house. As they approached, the sound of a baby crying—loud and vigorous—echoed from within. When the door opened, a woman was holding the child, patting his back to soothe him. She was startled to see so many visitors, especially as her husband had just gone out to tend to the livestock.

The process of growing up is truly not an easy path. Although the storehouse consciousness retains its memories, one must still spend a significant amount of time in recovery. Among my fellow students, it seemed inevitable that we would compare our learning speeds; however, the elders were very meticulous in guiding every word we spoke and even every thought that arose. In the future, when we would have to face vast numbers of followers, we would need to cultivate ourselves well. Fortunately, as we were still children, we were relatively free of defilements, so the teachings were not too difficult to grasp. When it came to the recitation of mantras, every single syllable had to be precise. Otherwise, the efficacy of the mantra would be lost, and one might inadvertently invite various ghost deities that one would be unable to handle. We understood the good intentions of the elders, and as children, we learned with humble hearts.

The Audience with the Empress Dowager

In the year I turned fifteen, having grown up in Inner Mongolia, I received an imperial decree. It was issued by the Empress Dowager Cixi, who held power over the Qing Dynasty at that time, requesting that I travel to the capital. To consolidate her political power, the Empress Dowager had first ordered the cessation of the long-standing practice of reciting the Infinite Life Sutra within the Qing court, and instead, she turned to the Taoist practice of spirit-writing. Because the emperors at the time were all quite young, she had to rule from behind the curtain; this was my understanding of the situation back then. As a young child, I knelt before the throne to pay my respects to the Empress Dowager. She was quite pleased and said, "Rise! Tell the servants to bring a seat." There was an elder accompanying me, the Changjia. The Empress Dowager then remarked, "I hear that the lamas can know the past and the future. May I ask you a few questions?" Although I was young, I was already a child of dignified appearance. Thus, when the Empress Dowager saw us, she still showed a measure of respect.

I knew that some things, even if known, should not be spoken of lightly, as they involve the laws of karma and cause and effect. Therefore, I only replied, "I shall do my best." The Empress Dowager then said, "The current emperor is still young, and to be honest, the situation in the Qing Dynasty is somewhat turbulent. With foreign aggression and the resentment of the people within the country, there is no sense of unity in the court. Everyone seems to be watching like tigers, waiting for the Qing court to make a mistake so they can swarm in. I dare not even imagine the consequences. I do not know how to handle this sensitive issue, so I ask for your teachings." I replied, "The prosperity of a nation is the welfare of its people. There is a reason for the current turmoil, and in times of worry, one should focus on restoration and consider the needs of the people. The people are the foundation of a nation; success depends on their support, and failure also comes from their support." Having said this, I took my leave. The Empress Dowager listened, only half-understanding, but she felt that since these words came from one who knew the past and future, they were worth deep contemplation. Even I, as a young child, did not fully understand how I could have spoken such mature words.

The Realities of the Worldly Realm

After staying in the Central Plains for a few days, we set off on our return journey to Mongolia. The trip back was quite long, taking several months. Although we could take a carriage, some sections of the road were so narrow that even a carriage could not pass. We had no choice but to walk, which was no easy task for a child of my age. From the capital of Beijing all the way back to the vast desert, the elder showed me everything clearly. Beijing was such a prosperous place, and the people seemed to have a high standard of living, yet their hearts did not seem very happy. After we set off, the elder and I had a full meal at a roadside shop.

Coming toward us was a mother and child, dressed in simple, plain clothes. They chose a corner seat and ordered the cheapest bowl of noodles. They ate together, one bite for the mother and one for the child, looking quite happy. Another guest was a young couple who seemed to have a very affectionate relationship. They also found a seat and ordered a bowl each, but their conversation was tinged with worry. They seemed to have been married for only a short time, and life did not seem very easy for them. Yet, now that they had formed a family, they had to grit their teeth and get through it, all for the sake of their love and their home. Not understanding this, questions arose in my heart, for I had been raised by the elder since I was small and did not know what a family was. Just as we were finishing our meal, an old grandfather sat down, coughing incessantly. The owner asked with concern, "Are you alright?" The old man replied, "It is an old ailment, but because of it, I have had to change many jobs. The owner was afraid I could not handle the workload and kindly advised me to resign and rest. Because my health is poor, I never married, and now that I am old, I am all alone." This was the conversation between the old man and the owner, which I overheard.

After finishing our meal, the elder and I paid and left. On the road, my mind kept returning to the scenes I had just witnessed, and finally, feeling confused, I asked the elder about them. A smile appeared on the elder's face as he praised my high level of understanding and told me that this was the true reality of the laws of the world in this worldly realm. These few scenes were almost a summary of an average person's life: starting from a family, the great learning involved in how a couple treats each other and learns to tolerate one another, then having children and working hard to provide for them. As the children grow up, one becomes old and sick, and the face of death draws ever closer. This is the myriad states of human life.

The Vow to Save Others

Upon hearing this, my young heart felt a deep sense of sorrow that people were suffering for these things. From a young age, I knew I had a mission, and in terms of my practice, I should be even more diligent. That night, as I prepared to sleep, sorrow welled up within me for no apparent reason. This world truly seemed to be full of suffering, yet no one knew it was suffering. After falling asleep in tears, I woke up the next day and made a vow to save people. The elder did not ask anything, nor did he say anything, but he knew I had grown up, for the look in my eyes was different from the child who had just arrived in Beijing. Now, they were bright and piercing, as if I could clearly foresee certain people, events, and things.

As we walked, we gradually entered the mountain forests, a vast wilderness where one could perceive the slightest movement of the wind or grass. We reached the edge of a stream, and looking toward the bottom, it was so clear that my own features were reflected back. I looked at myself carefully and noticed that my face seemed more mature. I cupped the icy lake water in my hands and brought it to my mouth; my whole body felt chilled. A moment ago, I had felt I could not go on due to thirst, but now, after that drink, I felt much more comfortable and had the strength to continue our journey. This day of travel was quite a burden for a child of my age, but I told myself that I was no longer a child. I had already vowed to save people, so no matter how difficult it was to endure, I had to persevere.

Before setting off, the elder and I picked up our water bottles and dipped them into the lake to fill them, for the elder said that we were now heading into the desert, where the road would be even more difficult. This water source was vital. Gradually, the sandstorm grew stronger, stinging our faces. Our skin felt as if it would be injured by the sand and stones, and the wind threatened to tear our skin. The elder asked with concern if I could still hold on. I replied, "This is a small matter." In my heart, I thought: what I will face in the future will likely be much harder than this, so I must not have even the slightest thought of giving up. I could not give up; I could only keep moving forward to return to Mongolia. The elder had been worried that I might not be able to hold on along the way and had been thinking of ways to arrange for help, but he had not expected that such a young child could possess such firm and enduring perseverance.

We gradually walked into the vast desert, the Gobi Desert, which, besides sand, contained many pebbles. Not long after entering the desert, our feet were already blistered; it was not just me, but the elder as well. Every step felt like the bleeding from our feet would never stop, and the pain went from a dull ache to making it difficult to even lift our feet. Neither the elder nor I spoke, and we did not tend to our wounds. To treat the wounds, we would need water to wash them, but we only had the one bottle tied to our waists. If we used it to wash our wounds, we would have nothing to drink. Thus, we chose to endure. We had to find a place to stay before dark, or it would be very dangerous. At night, the wind and sand were strong enough to cover a person. After walking for I do not know how many hours, we saw a thatched hut in the desert!

It was nearly dusk, and after knocking on the door, there was no response. After waiting for a long time, we pushed the door open ourselves and found only two camels inside, but no people. We said, "Excuse us!" and entered the hut. The smell in the room was unpleasant, mixed with the scent of the camels and their excrement. But regardless, it was a shelter safer than the outside. The elder and I took some of the thatch from inside to spread on the ground and unloaded all our luggage. At this time, our water bottle was only half full, and every time we drank, we only took a small sip, not daring to drink deeply. Our stomachs seemed to be hungry, but fortunately, we had bought some hard biscuits before entering the desert. Although they were dry, having something to eat was already satisfying.

The next morning, I was awakened by a gust of breath. When I woke up, I saw a camel breathing toward me—it was truly smelly! The elder had already risen and was waiting for me to wake up, not noticing the camel approaching me. After we packed our bags, we started to rise and move forward again. I did not ask how much longer we had to walk; I would just face it! There was no need to complain or fear. After leaving, the elder told me that by noon today, we should be able to reach an oasis where he knew someone, and we could have a full meal there and borrow a place to stay for the night. I nodded. When we reached the oasis, the elder walked quickly, familiar with the path, and knocked on the door of a house. After the door opened, a woman appeared and informed us that her husband had gone out to do business and would return later. The elder then asked if the woman recognized him, explaining that he was a good friend of her husband and had visited this place many years ago. The woman thought for a moment and then brought the elder and me inside. She told us to rest well while she went to prepare something delicious.

At this moment, Zhangjia was truly exhausted and had fallen asleep, slumped over the table. After a burst of fragrant aroma wafted through the air, I felt someone tapping me; it was the elder, waking me to eat. The moment I awoke, I felt a profound sense of happiness. Compared to the smell of camel breath I had encountered upon waking that morning, the scent of this meal was incomparable. As I took each bite, the hot soup and fragrant rice were delicious. Having been away for such a long time, it had been ages since I had tasted food this wonderful. A natural sense of satisfaction welled up within me, the corners of my mouth lifted, and my complexion began to glow with health. Just then, the elder's friend returned. As they had not seen each other for a long time, they began to chat, catching up on old times and discussing their recent circumstances.

The Market of Living Beings

Finding no way to join the conversation, I asked to go for a walk in the street. The elder, always concerned for my safety, sent his friend's twelve-year-old son to accompany me and ensure I did not get lost. I gladly accepted, and we set off together. The boy led me to their local market, where the air was filled with a myriad of scents. Many cattle, sheep, horses, camels, and donkeys had been driven into the street, as the herdsmen were passing through the oasis and had brought their livestock to the market to see if they could fetch a good price. Each animal was tethered to a wooden stake driven into the ground, their range of movement limited to the small area where they could sit. Some looked panic-stricken; others seemed confused, not understanding what was happening; and some, possessing higher spirit, seemed to know that their masters were about to sell them, revealing a look of deep sorrow in their eyes.

I asked the boy what fate awaited them after they were sold. The boy replied, "Some are taken back to be fattened up further to fetch a better price; others are taken to the slaughterhouse to be killed and sold to meat shops for people to eat." Upon hearing this, my stomach churned. My heart felt tangled and as if it were dripping with blood; I was deeply saddened. I felt for them, as they were also sentient beings with spirit; they had lives of their own, so why should they be treated this way?

The Fragility of Life

Is it simply because they have become animals in this life that they have no sovereignty over their own existence? Are they destined to play such a role? In truth, it is not just animals; even we humans lack true sovereignty over our lives, as we are forced to watch the scenes of birth, old age, sickness, and death play out day after day. I had witnessed much of this helplessness, where one cannot be the master of one's own fate. Before I left home, I had never truly understood the fragility of life, nor the fear and helplessness that arise when life reaches its end. I knew that they had been reborn as animals due to their attachments in previous lives or the pull of their past karma.

I do not know why, but it seemed as though I could see their pasts. Some had previously been nomadic people, wearing the clothing of that time; some were men, some women, some children, and others elderly. I was not certain if I was seeing their age at the time of their death, but regardless, I could clearly see their spirit attached to the animal, having become that creature. I had never known that all things could manifest in such a way. I told the young boy everything I had seen. He was quite astonished and decided he would tell the people he knew; at the very least, he would begin to respect animals himself. Zhangjia was also quite happy to hear this, as there were truly so many animals in this region.

The Healing Power of the Heart

The market was bustling with noise and the calls of vendors. I observed the people here to see how they differed from the people in Beijing. I discovered that while the people here looked a bit dirty on their faces and bodies, and their lives did not seem particularly prosperous, their hearts were not as tense as those of the people in Beijing. The vastness of the desert, which seemed to have no end, made the hearts and minds of the local people seem much more open than those of the people in Beijing. Although the people on the street were not dressed in silks and satins, their laughter was hearty and bold. As we walked further, we saw a crowd gathered around something. Out of curiosity, the boy and I went to take a look. It was an elderly person who had fallen to the ground. Upon asking, we learned that the elder had just tripped, and the nearest doctor was many miles away. Now that the elder could not move, everyone was at a loss as to what to do. For some reason, Zhangjia felt a surge of courage; I stepped forward, held my hands in the air over the elder's legs, and recited a mantra I knew for healing. The more I recited, the hotter my palms became. The elder said he also felt a warm current in his feet. After I finished reciting, the elder moved his legs and was surprised to find he could move them. Everyone looked at Zhangjia in astonishment, whispering to each other, wondering where this child had come from and how he could possess such a unique ability.

The boy beside me was also startled by my sudden action. In truth, Zhangjia was also shocked by himself. I had recited many types of mantras in my daily practice, each with different functions, but I had never expected that using one in this way would actually be effective. The elder stood up from the ground, shook Zhangjia's hand, and gave me a look of profound gratitude. Startled by my own actions, I told the boy I had to return, and for some reason, I turned and ran, not even checking if the boy was following. Everything that had just happened was far too unexpected. When Zhangjia ran back to the elder's friend's house, I found the elder waiting for me, ready to resume the journey back to Mongolia. I told the elder everything that had happened at the market. He simply smiled happily at me and said that this was an ability I had possessed all along.

The Path of Diligent Practice

In truth, it was not so strange; perhaps the Causal Conditions had simply matured, and so it manifested naturally. The elder was very happy for me. I thought to myself: Is that so? Is this truly an ability I have always had? We had only a little distance left to return to Inner Mongolia. I could not wait to return and share everything I had experienced and encountered along the way with my fellow disciples. When they saw the elder and Zhangjia return, they were exceptionally happy and all came out to welcome us. I happily shared everything with them, especially the fact that reciting mantras could truly heal illnesses! Although everyone had heard of such things, they did not know that they themselves could also do it. From the day I brought back this news, everyone became even more diligent in their practice, which brought great comfort to the elders.

To study the Esoteric school, one must be extremely positive and avoid any deviation or wrong paths, especially when reciting mantras. Why is it said that reciting mantras can heal illnesses? It lies in the power within the mantra, combined with one's own positive energy, which can achieve the effect of healing. Why is it that some people recite mantras without effect, and instead attract ghost deities to attach to their bodies? It is because, at the moment of recitation, they allowed subtle fluctuations to arise, turning the energy field that was meant to provide positive energy to the other person into negative energy, which then rebounded onto themselves. The most common places for spiritual attachment are around the eye sockets, the mouth, and the lips, which correspond to the eyes that see and the mouth that recites the mantra. Therefore, it is best to be free of thoughts while reciting. Being free of thoughts is the most powerful positive energy field. When one is often in a state of no-thought, meditative concentration will naturally manifest. Compared to reciting mantras, keeping the phrase "Om Mani Padme Hum" in one's heart—which represents the intention of Amitabha Buddha—is the supreme Dharma language of the Esoteric school. Rather than talking about seeking good fortune and avoiding calamity, it is better to say that without thoughts and habits, one cannot attract ghost deities.

The Stillness of the Mind

Under the state of meditative concentration, what one sees is clear and distinct, including one's own inner heart. I could see that sometimes my own heart would experience fluctuations. Zhangjia was not able to remain in a deep meditative state at every moment right from the start. I explored the reasons for the fluctuations in my own heart, asking myself what I had not yet let go of—was it greed, anger, delusion, or arrogance? I questioned myself, as these fluctuations mostly occurred when I was interacting with my fellow disciples. Because I had been identified from a young age as the successor to the Thirteenth Dalai Lama, it was inevitable that I would become a focal point in whatever I did; whether I did well or poorly, it seemed I was always under the scrutiny of my fellow disciples. Zhangjia was not a person of many words and often remained settled in my own heart. My fellow disciples would often seek guidance from one another, but whenever they came to ask Zhangjia, I was always in a deep meditative state, and it would be a long time before I spoke. My fellow disciples would grow impatient waiting. At first, not understanding Zhangjia, they would say that I was aloof and wonder what I was being arrogant about, as we were all supposed to be one. When these words reached Zhangjia's ears, I did not argue; I simply let them say what they would. At first, subtle feelings of injustice and confusion as to why they would say such things would quietly arise in my heart, but later I discovered that as soon as these thoughts arose, they disrupted my meditative concentration and also disrupted my recitation of "Om Mani Padme Hum." It was truly not worth it. Gradually, I trained my heart to remain balanced.

Every moment, Zhangjia was putting effort into my practice, training myself to have no thoughts or intentions when observing any phenomenon. Through this effort, I felt even clearer when reciting mantras, and at times, I could even see certain realms. How did those realms come to be, and why could I see them? Zhangjia did not understand, nor did I seek to investigate. The fact that Zhangjia could use my hands to recite mantras and help people heal had already spread among the fellow disciples and reached the believers as well. Everyone would often come to the temple to find Zhangjia. I could not refuse, but I also needed to have my own time for quiet retreats. Now, when Zhangjia healed believers, I could see where their discomfort lay the moment they walked through the door. After I treated them, the believers indeed improved significantly, but in truth, Zhangjia did not know where those ghost deities went after being treated with mantras. No one had ever taught Zhangjia this; it was said in legends that they could go to the Heaven of Neither Perception nor Non-Perception in the heavenly realms.

After helping believers heal, my own physical body would inevitably feel some discomfort, similar to the sensations the believers had felt. Zhangjia bore these physical sensations myself. My fellow disciples often envied Zhangjia for having such abilities, but they did not know the sensations my body had to endure. I never mentioned it to anyone, choosing only to bear it myself. Many monastic practitioners of the Esoteric school came to the temple to seek guidance from Zhangjia on how to achieve such a level of practice. Some even requested that Zhangjia accept them as disciples. Zhangjia, however, already knew that one day I would still have to go to the Central Plains, so I had not yet accepted any disciples, to avoid leaving them without a guide after I departed.

Eventually, news of these medical feats reached the Central Plains and came to the ears of Empress Dowager Cixi. The Empress Dowager issued an imperial decree, formally inviting Zhangjia to the Central Plains to serve as the State Preceptor. The gifts offered were incredibly generous, and a large delegation was sent to escort me. News of this arrival reached the monastery long before the procession actually arrived. Upon hearing this, I remained unmoved, for I knew that this day would eventually come. The people of Inner Mongolia were deeply reluctant to see me go. Because I had healed so many of them, they had come to call me a Living Buddha. Now that the Living Buddha was being summoned to the Central Plains, they did not know what my intentions were. However, the decree of the Empress Dowager, who held court from behind the curtain, had already been issued; whether I wished to go or not, I had no choice. It was uncertain whether the Living Buddha would ever return to Mongolia again.

The Journey to the Capital

I was twenty-one years old when I left Inner Mongolia. The delegation sent to welcome me entered the region in a grand, sweeping procession. At the gates of the monastery, they requested the young monks to announce their arrival. The monk who opened the gate hurried to report the news. At that moment, I was in a deep meditative state. I slowly stirred, having already prepared my belongings. After bidding farewell to the elders and my fellow practitioners, I joined the escort and set off toward Beijing. In every town we passed, the people welcomed us with great respect, as if everyone already knew of the event. When we arrived in Beijing, the civilians lined both sides of the road as our procession passed through. They shouted to one another, "Everyone, come and see! The Living Buddha from Inner Mongolia has arrived in the capital today. We are truly blessed!" Sitting on horseback, I heard their cries as our procession reached the imperial gates. Upon entering, I was first taken to the palace to pay my respects to the Emperor and the Empress Dowager. The Emperor at that time was only a five-year-old child, and everything was arranged by the Empress Dowager. She had prepared a residence for me, requesting that I rest well and promising to summon me the following afternoon.

The Empress Dowager’s Request

The next afternoon, I entered the imperial palace and met with Empress Dowager Cixi. In truth, I already understood her intentions. I had heard that she was searching for an elixir of immortality and that she had heard I could heal illnesses and foresee the past and future. After whispers from her ministers and eunuchs, she had invited me. The Empress Dowager said, "I am grateful that you have come again after all these years. I am not sure whether to address you as Venerable or as Master; please forgive my ignorance. The reason I invited you to be the State Preceptor is that I have heard you are called a Living Buddha in Inner Mongolia. The story of how you saved an old man on your journey years ago has long since spread. It has taken me so many years to find you; I truly apologise for not knowing where you were!" After paying my respects, I replied, "The Buddha’s teachings treat all beings equally. Wherever one resides, one can practise and offer assistance. There is no distinction between high or low, nor is there right or wrong." The Empress Dowager replied, "What a vast mind-capacity! I am full of admiration. The current Emperor has only recently ascended the throne, and the heavy burden of state affairs rests upon my shoulders. Recently, due to the busyness of the court, I have felt dizzy, and my hands and feet are numb. If these ailments flare up, they will affect the administration of the state. I wish to request that you, State Preceptor, might help me." Although she spoke with subtlety, I understood her heart. I replied, "I can help, but if you are always attached to this physical body, you will never be completely healed." The Empress Dowager only wished to quickly escape her current discomfort, so she responded perfunctorily. Under my treatment, she did indeed feel immediate relief, and her trust in me grew. In truth, I did not seek fame or profit, so whether I gained the Empress Dowager’s favour was of no concern to me. When she offered me rewards, I declined, asking only for a quiet place outside the city of Beijing where I could continue my diligent practice. The Empress Dowager agreed.

Deepening the Practice

Once in Beijing, I was even more cautious in examining myself, fearing that I might fall into the mire of wealth, sex, fame, food, and sleep. At first, I spent most of my time in seclusion. Gradually, as I became familiar with life in Beijing, I began to interact with some monastics, exchanging insights on practice and learning about the magnificent methods of each other's traditions. I became close friends with a Venerable who was very famous for his study of the Pure Land Dharma Gate. It was this friend who introduced me to the magnificent Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. While practising the esoteric path, I had never known of such a place. He introduced the Amitabha Sutra for me to read, allowing me to understand the beauty of the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. He explained that one only needs to focus exclusively on chanting the Buddha-name of Amitabha Buddha to be reborn in the Western Pure Land. In truth, this is the same meaning as chanting the sacred mantra of the esoteric school, "Om Mani Padme Hum." The masters of the esoteric school had achieved a high level of practice, but it seemed they were still within the ten directions, not yet reaching the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss, which is Infinite Life, Infinite Light. Upon knowing this, I shifted my focus to the Pure Land Dharma Gate. I sought guidance from the famous Pure Land masters of the time, all of whom were compassionate and possessed great dignity. I also pored over many sutras of the Pure Land. By the time I was twenty-five, I had become a dual practitioner of the esoteric and Pure Land paths. In truth, the esoteric school allowed me to cultivate this meditative concentration, but my ultimate vow was to be guided back to the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss.

Many concepts in these two traditions can be integrated. For instance, the Pure Land path is about the purification of one's own body and mind, which requires a state of no-thought. When chanting mantras, if one wishes to emit positive vibrations, one must also be in a state of no-thought. Chanting the name of Amitabha Buddha is the same as the esoteric "Om Mani Padme Hum"; both are for the purpose of attaining a pure heart and meditative concentration. I became a dual practitioner, holding the vow to be reborn in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss.

The Path of Letting Go

I had been in Beijing for many years, and gradually, students began to arrive to seek guidance. I taught them according to their individual capacities. Over these years, because I knew the excellence of the West, I began to propagate the Pure Land, introducing the Western Land, and keeping the Buddha-name constantly in my heart. Many students admired my meditative concentration and often asked how to cultivate it. I would reply, "You must realise that life is fundamentally an illusion. Under these illusory appearances, every day is just a passing scene; why let your heart be moved and take it as real? When you wake from the dream, you will regret your haste. You were meant to go to the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss, so why, when you open your eyes, are you waiting for the hells, or to be born as an animal, or to be a human crying as you enter this world of suffering, or to sit in meditation in the heavens? Look at the mundane world; you will have to start your practice all over again. Everyone says the Western Land is wonderful, but how will you get there without meditative concentration? Your heart is always fluctuating, up and down. At the end of life, what can you take with you? You only carry your beginningless karma. Without meditative concentration, your thoughts are chaotic, and past karma comes rushing in, leaving you dizzy and confused. Where is your meditative concentration? Only by letting go of the sensations of your own body can you fix the Buddha-name in your heart. Do not let your physical body lead you around. When there is no attachment to the body, purity manifests; when purity manifests, meditative concentration appears. 'See through' and 'let go' are the lifelong lessons of practice. The more you let go, the more you progress. Let go of emotion, let go of habits, let go of your Body, Speech, and Mind. Why is 'seeing through' the first step? It is to reveal that all is but a false play. When the play ends, where does the spirit return? It depends on how much you have 'seen through' and 'let go' during your practice. With a single thought, you are in the six realms of existence. But if you chant 'Amitabha, Amitabha' with every breath, you can go straight to the Western Land."

I taught my disciples to start by "seeing through" and "letting go." These four simple words contain many things that must be overcome—most importantly, overcoming the thoughts of one's own self. When a thought arises, it is because one is thinking of oneself. In these subtle moments, one must constantly reflect and observe oneself. This is the path that every practitioner must keep in mind and put into practice throughout their life.

The Waning Dynasty

In these turbulent times, I was already thirty-two years old. The Qing Dynasty had seen several young emperors, and now it was Puyi. Facing the invasion of foreign powers, the dynasty was increasingly in decline. Seeing the prevalence of opium in the Qing Dynasty, I felt deep pain. I suggested to the Emperor—or rather, to the Empress Dowager—that they should cut off the source from the centre. This substance was causing immeasurable harm; could the court please take steps to improve the situation? But the Empress Dowager and the ministers were also using it. The Empress Dowager only said, "This is imported by the British. If we cut it off suddenly, it might immediately affect the relationship between the two nations and could lead to war, so we must consider it carefully." I knew this reply was merely an excuse to brush me aside; the court had no intention of improving anything. The matter was suppressed. And so, the people sank into the floating, dreamlike state caused by opium, and the nation's fortune grew weaker and weaker. Seeing that there was no longer a place for me to be of use, I took an opportunity to resign from my position as State Preceptor to Puyi and the Empress Dowager.

I had no set destination. After leaving the palace, I first walked onto the streets of Beijing. The people on the streets were different from when I had first arrived years ago; their eyes were much more hollow, as if they lacked a focus in their lives. This was also because many nations had come to China, using the name of diplomacy to actually occupy the land. The people saw this, and in their hearts, they knew it well.

I thought of visiting my old friends in the Pure Land tradition, but the masters I had been close to had already passed away. I had heard of the auspicious signs they displayed when they were reborn in the Western Pure Land. Thus, I temporarily went to Hangzhou, to the monastery that carried the lineage of Master Jieliu, to stay as a guest. When I arrived, the disciples of Master Jieliu respectfully welcomed me and arranged a room for me. I stayed there for a period of time to avoid the chaos of the outside world. From the disciples of Master Jieliu, I learned how the Master had propagated the Pure Land and how he had planned for the future transmission of the Dharma. I joined the community in their morning and evening chants and their daily chores. Originally, they did not want me to do these things—how could they let a guest, and a friend of their Master, do such work? But after I insisted, they said no more. A sense of dignity emanating from within made the monks of the monastery refrain from further protest, and they arranged some simple tasks for me.

After some time, I felt that my time there had come to an end, and it was time to set off for the next connection. As for where that connection might be, Guangdong appeared in my mind. If the connection was there, then I would go there! In this chaotic era, there were no longer carriages or sedan chairs to be had; I had to rely on walking. Although some railways had been built, as a monastic, I had no money to my name. I walked along the way, asking for lodging at monasteries when I saw them. If there was no monastery, I would rest under a tree and sustain myself by begging for food.

This journey made my physical body increasingly robust. I set out on this path alone, and every step tested my physical form, questioning whether I could remain indifferent to the hardships encountered. In truth, I had already settled my heart into a state of deep meditative concentration. Everything experienced in the external world posed no problem for Zhangjia. Along the way, I had considered returning to the regions of Mongolia and Tibet to bring back the dual practice of the Pure Land and Esoteric traditions. I knew that the Pure Land path is truly the method for one's true self to transcend the cycle of birth and death, whereas the Esoteric tradition still operates within the six realms of existence to save beings. However, given the background of that era, I abandoned this thought. Perhaps because our causal conditions differ, we are born in different places; perhaps one should not force anything, so I chose to let this thought go.

The Turbulence of a Changing Era

The map of mainland China was then occupied by foreign enemies, carved up piece by piece. One could not simply go wherever one wished. In that era, human life was treated like an ant, held in little regard. The cruelty of human nature placed competition above all else. After the collapse of the Qing government, various military factions rose up, occupying their respective provinces, ostensibly to protect their own territories. Every town was filled with soldiers standing guard, terrified that the neighboring province would launch an attack, causing their own territory, rights, and survival to vanish.

The transition between dynasties is always the time when the common people suffer the most. Everything those in power did was aimed at consolidating their own status. Warlords searched house to house, fearing that the populace might be bought off by rival factions and harbor spies, which they considered a grave danger. Due to the instability of the times, the lives of the people were already mired in hardship. Even feeding a whole family was a struggle. How many elderly and children starved to death because they could not be supported? How many fathers went to other regions to trade or do small business to make a living, only to never return?

Even more cruel was that when warlord ranks were insufficient, young men were forced to join. Some joined voluntarily, while others had no choice but to seek refuge because they could no longer survive. The people lived in misery. Some chose to take their families to seek refuge with distant relatives. A family would pack their bags and set out on foot, but of those who started, how many actually arrived? One can only describe the people of that era as constantly fleeing and scattering. In truth, are we not all of the same human race? Why must we treat each other this way? For the sake of power, countless civilians were sacrificed. What remained was the pain in their hearts—the agony of losing their homes, their loved ones, and the inability to ever return. Home was a place they would never see again in this lifetime.

The Seeds of Compassion Amidst Chaos

After China endured internal strife and foreign invasion, the people could not recover for a long time, remaining trapped in the shadows of war and flight. Some fled to Taiwan, while others remained in China. Eventually, the Red Guards unified China, advocating that everyone shared the same interests and that there should be no distinctions of high or low status. This led to the phenomenon of denouncing landlords, with the goal of forcing them to surrender their land so the government could consolidate it and distribute benefits equally. People in that great era lived lives of hardship.

Witnessing the changes of this era, the cruelty and ruthlessness of human nature, I realized this was because the era lacked the softening influence of the Buddha’s teachings. It is not that humans are inherently like this; in fact, the foundation of every person is Goodness and compassion. We cannot bear to see each other suffer. I felt deep sorrow for the evolution of this era, which only strengthened my determination to actively spread the Buddha’s teachings. In this wounded era, only the Dharma could soothe the panic, unease, and fear in everyone’s hearts.

Why do I say that my meditative concentration was unfathomably deep, and how was it related to this era? If one has witnessed the tragedies of such an era with one's own eyes, what desires could one possibly have left? None, not a single one. My heart was constantly in a state of deep meditative concentration. I thought only of my age—then in my early forties—and how many more people I could help leave suffering behind. In such an era, I knew that promoting the Pure Land path was the most effective way to help people. It is simple, clear, and direct; it requires no convoluted detours. One only needs to chant the name of Amitabha Buddha to leave suffering behind. These experiences were what I saw, encountered, and realized on my way to Guangdong.

The Persistence of the Dharma

Upon arriving in Guangdong, I found like-minded monastics and Dharma protectors. We found a gathering place and prepared to vigorously spread the Dharma. However, in the context of that era, the government was extremely sensitive and did not allow the formation of associations, fearing another rebellion. Therefore, promotion was incredibly difficult. The government would sometimes come to inspect us, wanting to stop such gatherings, admonishing us again and again. I did not fear these admonitions. If I were to fear, then the panicked and uneasy people of that era would have no Dharma to follow, and I could not imagine the consequences. Therefore, even if I had to sacrifice myself, I would not regret it. Why say this? In that era, if one did something the government disapproved of, they would take you away. As for what happened after being taken away, no one knew. Thus, everyone was extremely cautious about what they said in public, fearing that one careless slip would mean they would never return.

After the war, the lives of the people gradually stabilized. Once they had enough to eat, people began to attend the Buddha-recitation sessions, finding a moment of peace for their hearts. However, these were all conducted in secret. Later, because too many people gathered, we were shouted at by the central authorities to stop and were forced to disband. Such was the nature of that great era. I simply followed the Causal Conditions; what mattered was that I had established the concept of studying and chanting the Buddha’s name for everyone. After the sessions ended, everyone went their separate ways to find their own connections. As for my next step, I had no clear idea. Although I had Dharma protectors by my side and food was not an issue, I waited for the next opportunity to save beings, temporarily residing in the home of a protector. During this period when I could not promote the Dharma, I focused on my own practice, the essence of which was adjusting my own heart.

A New Path Forward

Although I accepted the disbanding of the Buddha-recitation sessions as following Causal Conditions, I could not help but feel it was a pity. We had finally managed to spread the Dharma, only for it to vanish in an instant. This sudden change caused a subtle ripple in my heart. Although my appearance showed little change, I noticed even the most minute fluctuations. I used this time, while waiting for new conditions to save beings, to work hard on my body, mind, and spirit, training myself to the finest degree. Most of the time, I chanted the six-syllable mantra without interruption to fill every moment, ensuring I had no room for laziness. Perhaps the Causal Conditions had arrived; a relative of a Dharma protector used their political and business connections to come to the mainland to visit family. In that era, family visits were not yet officially open, but because this lay practitioner had good connections, he brought his wife to visit relatives. To be able to see family in such a war-torn era—when they met, they were in tears, filled with endless gratitude.

At this time, the wife of the lay practitioner saw a photograph of me on the protector's table. She recognized me at a glance and asked the protector for guidance. The protector explained that he had been supporting me for some time and that we had previously established a Buddha-recitation society, but due to the political situation, it could not be maintained and was restricted. He told her, "The Venerable is currently in a place I arranged for him, focusing on his practice; I am wholeheartedly supporting him. I believe the Venerable will surely find a time to shine in the future." The wife was very happy to hear this and hoped to take me to meet the Venerable, wishing that I could return to Taiwan with them to spread the Dharma and benefit living beings. After meeting me, she spoke with great sincerity, hoping I would return to Taiwan to introduce the Buddha’s teachings to the people there. I did not think for long; I simply felt that the Causal Conditions had arrived and it was time to come out of seclusion to spread the Dharma. I packed my bags and followed the couple onto a boat back to Taiwan.

The journey back to Taiwan took about two months. By then, I was already over fifty. I thought that my remaining days were not many, and upon arriving in Taiwan, I would certainly do my utmost to promote the Buddha’s teachings. After discussing with the couple, they informed me that they were very familiar with the Nationalist government. Since I had this vow, they wanted to introduce me to the government. In an era of such scarce resources, government support was far better than promoting it on my own. I listened and found it reasonable, though I did not think too much about it. Even though I had been a focus of attention since birth, my true nature was indifferent to fame and wealth. However, due to the needs of that great era, I had to step forward.

Upon arriving in Taiwan, the couple first arranged a place for me to stay and then set about arranging a meeting with the government to discuss my situation. Once the government learned of my arrival, they respectfully invited me to serve as the president of the Buddhist Association. For the sake of the people in Taiwan, I accepted. Observing the current situation in Taiwan, the state of the people, and how everything was gradually getting on track—with the economy and life improving—I saw that while not extremely wealthy, those willing to work did not fear hunger. The hearts of the people were simple and pure. If the Buddha’s teachings were promoted further, the society would surely become even more stable. The Buddhist community in Taiwan, both monastics and lay practitioners, were very happy to hear of my arrival. Now that I was the president of the Buddhist Association, everyone would occasionally take time to exchange ideas and seek guidance. Because of this position, I was also able to discuss the direction of Buddhist promotion in Taiwan with other virtuous teachers and Venerables.

Although everyone’s approach to practice differed, the fundamental intention remained the same: to ensure that in these turbulent times, the Buddha’s teachings could provide peace and stability to the hearts of the people. This was a modest goal for the transmission of the Dharma, but more importantly, it was to help everyone achieve liberation from the cycle of birth and death. I integrated the resources of the monastics and the temples from the north and south. We began to spread the Buddha’s teachings widely across the different regions where our bodhimanda were located. One Venerable expressed that he had long hoped to unify the temples across Taiwan to pass on the Dharma lineage together. However, he felt his own virtue was insufficient, and his words might lack the necessary persuasive power. Fortunately, he finally waited for the appearance of Master Zhangjia to lead this unification. The deep respect and admiration everyone held for the Master made him the most suitable person to take on this position.

Uniting the Dharma Path

Master Zhangjia truly did not dare to accept such high praise. In truth, the work accomplished over so many years seemed insignificant to him. Every time he heard the commendations of others, it only made him feel that he had not done enough. Yet, he was always supported by noble people, which allowed Master Zhangjia to proceed on this path of practice without exhaustion.

With the Buddhist Association established as a base, many lay practitioners who knew of Master Zhangjia came to seek guidance, requesting to become his disciples or asking him to deliver lectures. Seeing the sincere desire of these lay practitioners to learn the Buddha’s teachings, he set a fixed time each week for lectures. The philosophy he imparted focused on putting in the work within one’s own heart. He taught them to examine their own minds rather than focusing on external criticisms. By learning to see through and let go a little more each day, one would naturally feel more at ease. The freedom of the heart is something that no amount of wealth can purchase. When one views all things with detachment, the heart will naturally remain unmoved. Once the power of meditative concentration manifests, the Wisdom that allows one to respond to all changes with an unchanging mind will also naturally manifest.

The Simplicity of the Pure Land

In truth, to see through and let go is not an easy task. How many people have come to seek guidance on this very matter! Even many monastics came to learn from him. Master Zhangjia shared the Pure Land Dharma Gate with everyone, speaking of Namo Amituofo and the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. He saw that the capacity of the people in society was well-suited for this path, as it is simple and clear. In today’s society, where people must struggle for their daily bread, the simpler the path, the better. The key is to truly spread the Buddha’s teachings and to provide an inconceivable Dharma Gate that can lead to liberation.

This was a life of studying Esoteric Buddhism, followed by the dual practice of the Pure Land and Esoteric paths, and finally, the dedication to spreading the Pure Land teachings and guiding all beings back to the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. In reality, no Dharma Gate is higher or lower than another; they are all merely methods applied according to the capacity of the beings. They are all one.

Reflections on the Journey

When Master Zhangjia was around sixty years old, he often dreamt that he had returned to Tibet, Mongolia, and Qinghai to teach the Dharma, joining everyone in group cultivation and morning service. He also dreamt of the elder who had accompanied him to China. In his joy, he approached the elder to share everything that had happened since arriving in China. The expression on the elder’s face was one of deep satisfaction, like a father seeing his child achieve spiritual success; the joy revealed in his eyes was profound. The elder had always been the one who looked after Master Zhangjia and accompanied his growth, and the Master held him in the highest respect. After so many years in the Central Plains, the elder had surely long since passed away. For many years, I had never thought of these things, yet for some reason, they surfaced in my mind at this time. Perhaps it was a reminder that the use of this physical body was nearing its end.

Facing the Final Transition

At over sixty years of age, I discovered that my stomach was gradually causing problems. I wondered if it was due to the practice of not eating after noon, but I had maintained this practice for many years. From the feeling of discomfort in my stomach upon waking in the morning, to the nausea that began when eating, and finally to the intermittent, sharp pains, the symptoms became increasingly severe. While the body always carries minor ailments, pains, and aches, I had paid them little mind. It was only when the stomach condition became truly serious that I accepted the request of the faithful to go to the hospital for an examination. My heart was very calm, for this physical body would eventually have to be cast aside. I had no great attachments. When the report came back indicating stage two stomach cancer, the faithful were struck as if by a thunderbolt; some felt deep pain, and others wept. But I remained unmoved, only tightening my grip on the Buddha-name every day. When the Buddha-name is held firmly, one barely feels the pain in the stomach. This is truly an inconceivable aspect of the practice. I instructed my disciples to pass on the Buddha’s teachings well, so that more people could leave suffering behind. I had not come on this journey in vain. At the age of sixty-eight, I passed away in the hospital. The scene witnessed at that time was an inconceivable sight of golden light suddenly appearing and fragrance permeating the air. Many of the sentient beings with karmic affinity whom I had connected with came to see me off on the final journey of this physical body. By then, my spirit had already returned to the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss upon a lotus. After my body was cremated, many transparent and pure relics appeared, which left the faithful in awe and led them to share the story far and wide.

A Dialogue on the Path

Venerable Faxin: Namo Amituofo. I am deeply grateful for the sharing of Master Zhangjia. The experiences you gained throughout your life of practice can serve as a great encouragement to those of us who follow. May I ask a question? Regarding the dreams you had at the age of sixty, where you returned to Mongolia and saw the elder, was your spirit being lost at that time, leading to the gradual weakening of your body? Also, may I ask if your stomach cancer was caused by karmic creditors from the past coming to seek balance?

Master Zhangjia: The dreams around the age of sixty did indeed involve the spirit being taken away, but it was not only those dreams; it happened successively. In truth, at that time, I did not know that the soul could be taken away in dreams, or that it was karmic creditors seeking balance. It was only after Namo Amituofo, in His compassion, allowed the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre to reveal this truth that I came to understand.

Part of the stomach cancer I suffered at the end of my life was indeed due to my own karmic creditors. This included monastics and lay practitioners from the Esoteric tradition whom I had encountered in past reincarnations and who had not reached the Western Land, as well as karmic creditors who were dissatisfied after I had helped them heal their illnesses. In truth, from the moment I began using mantras to heal others, my own body became heavier. However, I did not retreat because of this. What must be done, must be done. As long as the body could endure it, there was no need to calculate the cost. This was also a form of practice in letting go of the physical body; it was truly insignificant.

Venerable Faxin: Master, is it necessary to write a memorial tablet so that these beings and Bodhisattvas in space can be liberated and reach the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss?

Master Zhangjia: There is no need to write one. Practitioner Su has already been bringing my sentient beings with karmic affinity to the Western Land during her morning walking meditation every day. I am truly filled with gratitude! Namo Amituofo.

Venerable Faxin: Yes, thank you, Master.

This interview was recorded by the Buddha’s disciple, Shi Faxinxi.