The Wind Before the Rain

This is a record of an interview with Lin Huoshui, the Wind God of Central Taiwan, who sought Chao Du at the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre in Australia. He now resides in the Western Dharma-Nature Land. This account reflects upon his life and service spanning several centuries. Recorded by the chief writer, Venerable HaiZe, on April 25, 2021.

Lin Huoshui speaks:

"Namo Amituofo. I am Lin Huoshui, a child born and raised in the heart of Taiwan. Five hundred years ago, the indigenous people of Taiwan mostly inhabited the mountainous regions. Back then, life required carving paths through the mountains to connect with the outside world. A single round trip could take hours, sometimes half a day, or even an entire day. Along the coast, there were tribes who lived by the sea. In the plains between the mountains and the coast, people lived in small communities. Aside from the indigenous tribes, there were a few outsiders who had crossed the Taiwan Strait from the other side—what is now the mainland. My grandfather was one of those few who arrived on the plains of Taiwan during that era.

A Heritage of Two Shores

The customs of that time were simple and honest. Everyone knew one another. If a stranger arrived, the whole village would know, and they would ask where the person came from and who they brought with them. If someone had arrived by smuggling themselves across the sea, they usually kept quiet to avoid drawing attention, and the villagers, being sensible, would not press them for details. If someone was moving within Taiwan, they would ask for the village's tolerance and guidance, hoping to integrate into local life quickly. My grandfather belonged to the former group. He was in his thirties, and his thick accent from across the sea made it clear he was not a local. This piqued the curiosity of the villagers, and my grandmother was among those who were curious. It is truly said that those with karmic affinity will meet even across a thousand miles.

My father told me that my grandmother came from a respectable family. After she and my grandfather had been seeing each other for a while, she told her parents she wanted to marry him. This caused great dissatisfaction and resistance from my great-grandparents. After much struggle and communication, they reluctantly agreed and provided a house as my grandmother's dowry. Only then did my grandfather have a place to call home, which eventually led to the birth of my father and, later, us.

The Scar of Reincarnation

My grandmother was the descendant of an official family. My great-grandfather had come to Taiwan from the mainland, and my grandmother was born here, living a peaceful and smooth life. Her union with my grandfather was a combination of Taiwan and the mainland, which was quite a spectacle at the time. My grandfather kept a low profile, which allowed him to pass through many investigations and inquiries safely. They had two sons and two daughters. My father was the eldest. Not long after my father married, my grandfather fell ill and passed away. Before he died, he told my grandmother that she had been a great blessing to him, that he had only been able to build a life because of her, and that he would return to repay her kindness. He passed away shortly after.

I was born two years later, the eldest grandson and the first child of the family. When the midwife held me up for my grandmother and father to see, they both looked shocked. They were thinking the same thing: 'Why does he look so much like my grandfather?' When my grandmother saw my small hand, tears welled up in her eyes. She told my father with deep emotion, 'This child is your father reborn.' On my arm, there was a very distinct scar—not a birthmark, but a scar in the exact same position as the one on my grandfather's arm. That scar had been left during his struggle with pirates while crossing the sea to Taiwan. Who would have expected it to appear on my arm?

The Perilous Mountain Pass

To ensure I was seen as a true child of Taiwan, free from the shadows of the previous generation, my grandmother gave me a very local name: Lin Huoshui. She hoped I would be a person who could reconcile fire and water, rather than one who clashed with them. I lived up to her wishes, leaving behind the shadows of my grandfather's past. Whether in appearance, habits, or speech, I was a quintessential Taiwanese. The only thing I shared with my grandfather was my independence; I disliked troubling others or becoming a burden. From a young age, I did what I could myself. Even if I didn't do it well at first, practice makes perfect. This attitude often brought a knowing smile to my grandmother's face. Although she didn't say it, I knew she was thinking, 'He is exactly like his grandfather.' I felt this was a good thing, and it fostered in me a desire to help others rather than be helped. This personality trait sometimes helped me, but at other times, it made me seem unapproachable. However, those who truly knew me understood that I was a caring and meticulous person.

In those days, most people relied on manual labour, depending on the heavens or the sea. With the wind, water, climate, and land, people relied on experience and methods passed down from their ancestors to avoid loss of life and property. There was a mountain with a narrow path—one side against the mountain, the other a steep cliff. If you weren't careful, you would fall, resulting in injury or death. I heard that the authorities once wanted to widen this path, but the mountain wall was too hard to carve. After the first attempt resulted in a death, no one dared to touch the mountain again. Yet, this path was the only route for trade and procurement. Only those very familiar with the terrain or those desperate for money would risk their lives to walk it. They would watch the weather, only daring to go on clear days. One day, a relative of ours, who made a living by walking this path to help others shop in the city, was caught in a sudden, heavy downpour on his return trip. There was no way back, and the road ahead was still long. With no shelter and a heavy load on his shoulders, he could only pray to the heavens for safety. But his family waited in vain. After a few days, they gave up hope and reported it to the authorities. They sent people to search, but found nothing—not even a body. Everyone mourned the loss of such an honest young man.

A Vow Written in Stone

Under the guidance of my grandmother and father, I eventually earned an official position, and my jurisdiction happened to cover that very mountain. The memory of my relative's death left a deep scar on my heart. He used to visit our home whenever he came to the city; he was a good man who seemed to understand me. His death was a painful memory I could never forget. I silently made a vow: if possible, I would never let such a thing happen again. Perhaps the heavens heard my wish, for I was placed in charge of that mountain. I collected data and discussed methods with my subordinates to improve the situation, but although we discussed many ideas, none proved practical.

I did not give up. I told the heavens that if there was a way to widen that path and stop the sacrifice of innocent lives, I would gladly trade my own life for it! During a typhoon, with howling winds and torrential rain, someone came to the office to complain. His son had gone up the mountain shortly before the storm and had not returned. He begged the authorities to send someone to save him. I knew very well that anyone sent out would never return. I would not sacrifice any of my men. As expected, there was no news of his son. This became another pain in my heart. I begged the heavens once more: 'Please, show me a clear path. How can I stop the people of this village from suffering such harm?'

One night, amidst a storm of wind, rain, thunder, and lightning, a voice came to me: if I were to sacrifice my life now, the village would find peace, and the mountain path would be transformed. I nodded. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew. I lost my footing, and my body was thrown against a stone pillar. I collapsed instantly and lost consciousness. As I lay on my bed, I heard voices discussing the miracle: after the storm and the lightning strike that day, a new path had opened on the mountain—wider and safer than the original. People thought it was a miracle. I listened and smiled, my heart finally at peace. It was time for me to fulfil my vow. This was the most meaningful thing I had done for the villagers in this lifetime. Shortly after, I breathed my last.

The Burden of the Wind God

My spirit was carried by a wind into the heavenly realms. The Jade Emperor told me that because I had traded my life for the lives of many villagers, benefiting future generations, this hidden merit allowed me to take the position of Wind God. From then on, I used my position to guard that mountain and the nearby residents. Whenever a typhoon approached, I would blow a specific wind to warn the residents. After a few times, many villagers learned that this wind meant a storm was coming, and they began to make preparations.

For hundreds of years, Taiwan's geographical location has weathered many typhoons and floods. In the last century, however, the change in human hearts and educational policies has caused people to forget the virtue of thinking of others and leaving a way out for them. People now focus only on the immediate satisfaction of their own desires. Under the impact of civilization, nature has been neglected and polluted. In Central Taiwan, many industrial zones use chemical raw materials, and the massive use of pesticides has caused severe damage to rivers, soil, and farmland. This has led to widespread pollution, killing many creatures. Coupled with the consumption of meat, the spirits of slaughtered pigs, chickens, ducks, cows, sheep, geese, and sea creatures like fish, shrimp, clams, and crabs have filled the air, forming a dark, grey layer of resentful spirits covering Taiwan. My heart is filled with deep concern. Karmic retribution is only a matter of time. This is why the recent severe drought in Taiwan occurred—it is the collective karma of the entire population. Although I hold a divine position, I am powerless to change it.

The Golden Light of Deliverance

For quite some time, every morning, a very bright golden light has been showered upon the earth. After a while, this light would vanish. This happened daily. Word spread in the heavenly realms that this was the Dharma Body of Practitioner Su performing Chao Du for sentient beings, reaching Taiwan, the mainland, Hong Kong, Southeast Asia, and Japan. I felt immense admiration for Practitioner Su. When Practitioner Su appeared in Taiwan daily to pray for rain during the drought, I could see Namo Amituofo, Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva, Mahasthamaprapta Bodhisattva, and many other Bodhisattvas, their golden light illuminating the entire sky and earth. When the spirits recognized Namo Amituofo and the Bodhisattvas, many were moved to tears and knelt down. Especially when many animals, sea creatures, pigs, chickens, ducks, cows, sheep, and geese had their animal 'outer garments' removed and were restored to their original human forms, they were astonished. Their original resentment faded, and they were led into the golden light by the Dharma Body of Practitioner Su to receive deliverance.

Recently, I received notice from the Jade Emperor to coordinate with the Rain God, Thunder God, and Lightning God. After Practitioner Su's Dharma Body performed the Chao Du, we were to watch for the signal to initiate the wind before the rain, notify the spirits that rain was coming, and assist in guiding the rainfall to the appropriate areas. Indeed, after the Chao Du, the number of victimized spirits covering the area decreased significantly. Upon receiving the notice to release rain, I released a suitable amount of wind before the Rain God brought rain to the reservoirs. Sensitive creatures could perceive the difference in the wind. After the reservoirs were filled with rain, we could hear the cheers of the earthly creatures receiving the water. We remained at our posts.

A Final Journey to the West

Later, we heard a voice from the sky calling the names of our group—the gods of wind, rain, thunder, and lightning—telling us to wait for an interview at the Western Dharma-Nature Land of the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre in Australia, after which we could be guided by the Dharma Body of Practitioner Su to enter the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. The Jade Emperor had told us about this. Although I was happy to go to the West, I held a deep, inseparable affection for this land. So, after the wind stopped, I remained at my post. It was only after the Rain God, Thunder God, and Lightning God persuaded me that I joined them in entering the Western Dharma-Nature Land. I realized then that I was fortunate to have made that decision; otherwise, I would have lost this precious opportunity for a new life.

I must remember this heart of guarding the earthly creatures. After arriving in the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss, I must not forget that many sentient beings are still suffering. I must learn from the spirit of Practitioner Su, and when I have the ability, I must help these creatures, using appropriate methods to help them leave suffering behind and be reborn in the Western Pure Land.

I sincerely thank Namo Amituofo and Practitioner Su for saving Taiwan and for saving us divine beings. Namo Amituofo."

Lin Huoshui

Memorial Tablet: The various creatures, including those in rivers and soil polluted by industry and pesticides in Taiwan and Central Taiwan, as well as slaughtered meat and seafood, space spirits, ghosts, and sentient beings with karmic affinity who were resolved by the Dharma Body of Practitioner Su, all received Chao Du. Countless, represented by: Wind God Lin Huoshui (clothes removed, restored to original state).

Memorial Tablet: The people with karmic affinity to Wind God Lin Huoshui, the subordinates who participated in raising the wind, the spirits in the wind, sentient beings with karmic affinity, and dust-like beings. Countless, represented by: Wind God Lin Huoshui.

Entered the Western Dharma-Nature Land of the Hsiang Kuang Pure Land Buddhist Centre in Australia.