Long-term spiritual practice can transform a person’s character and refine the quality of their presence. When we speak of someone’s “aura” or disposition, we usually attribute it to education, family upbringing, or other environmental influences. In truth, however, the cultivation of bodhicitta is the most effective way to elevate and ennoble one’s inner qualities.
Through long-term practice of bodhicitta, one’s heart becomes gentle and soft, free from hatred, and no longer habitually defensive or fearful; such a person naturally becomes genuinely lovable. Likewise, a person who, through sustained breathing practice, repeatedly habituates the mind to the aspiration, “May I accept loss upon myself and offer victory to others” will naturally exude a sense of warmth and ease to all who come near them.
Some people, due to their narrow, self-centered, and stubborn dispositions, inevitably find themselves trapped in a recurring state of inner conflict and suffering. Their faces naturally reveal a look of distress that is difficult to conceal, which in turn causes those around them to feel repelled and and keep their distance.
However, when a person genuinely cultivates bodhicitta, such inner conflict and suffering inevitably diminish, and may even be completely dissolved.
For those who have cultivated bodhicitta to a high degree, feeling sorrow for oneself becomes something almost shameful. If one repeatedly reflects on, practices and inwardly habituates the aspiration, “For the benefit of all sentient beings, I vow to attain Buddhahood,” and is willing to dedicate one’s entire life to the Three Jewels and all sentient beings, how could one possibly remain caught in anxiety over gain and loss, fixated on trivial calculations, or weighed down by distress and depression?
Modern people often experience a deep and pervasive sense of inner lack, continually feeling that what they have is never enough, that their needs cannot be met, or that their expectations cannot be fulfilled. For practitioners, such a sense of insufficiency may manifest as a lack of joy in practice, or as a sense of loneliness along the spiritual path.
When one continually cultivates an altruistic mind, there comes a time when one discovers that caring for others is itself a source of joy. Although in the early stages of practice one may feel discomfort due to the sacrifices involved, once the altruistic mind becomes strong, such pain naturally fades away. Even living in poverty no longer poses a problem, for once the inner sense of lack has dissolved, one no longer suffers on account of oneself.
Ordinary people often assume that happiness is built upon “getting” — taking money, claiming good things exclusively for oneself, and pushing undesirable things away. This is a form of hungry-ghost mentality—so driven by craving that we, like hungry ghosts, sometimes seize even what is unpleasant.The practice of “giving” is meant to counteract this habitual tendency; it is an act of offering, of letting go. When one learns to experience joy in the very act of giving itself, the hungry-ghost–like clinging of the mind gradually dissolves.
The practice of bodhicitta functions in much the same way. Generally speaking, the momentum of our mental continuum tends to be centered on ourselves; we are deeply preoccupied with “me” and “mine.” If we observe carefully, we will notice that the moment we open our eyes every morning, our attention immediately turns to ourselves. Hunger, cold, and even the smallest bodily changes are instantly detected; and once we fall ill or experience pain, it becomes difficult to care about anyone else’s situation. This is precisely because our attention is entirely absorbed in this body—indeed, the greatest portion of our mental energy is spent on ourselves.
This self-centered tendency is not limited to the physical level alone; it also extends to our emotions and many other aspects of our experience. For example, when we are insulted, misunderstood, or slandered, we may become intensely angry. Once the mind fixates on that anger, everything else becomes obscured from view.
However, the practice of bodhicitta moves in precisely the opposite direction—it teaches us to shift our attention toward the happiness of others and to be willing to make sacrifices for their well-being.
Through the reasoning of the Dharma, we come to understand a profound truth: every living being—whether as small as a mosquito or as humble as a mouse—has, at some point in beginningless saṃsāra, been our loving parent. To be sure, over the vast course of cyclic existence they have also been our enemies; yet once we commit ourselves to the practice of bodhicitta, we should deliberately turn our attention toward the aspect of their kindness and beneficence. We focus on visualizing them as our mothers who nurtured us with boundless care, repeatedly recalling and deeply feeling their great compassion within our hearts: every being before our eyes has, in the past, been our nourishing, affectionate mother. Of course, in addition to contemplating them as parents, one may also visualize them as one’s children, or as anyone who has ever offered us warmth and a smile.
Does this form of visualization truly function as intended?
Sustained and long-term visualization does indeed bring about real transformation. When you begin to feel genuine joy at the happiness of others, and when the spiritual progress of those around you evokes a heartfelt delight—much like the happiness a parent feels upon witnessing a child’s accomplishments—this is a sign that bodhicitta has begun to dawn. Without such experiential feeling, bodhicitta remains merely a conceptual idea, unable to be transformed into actual inner benefit, let alone realization.
With the continued cultivation of bodhicitta, one gradually discovers oneself becoming gentler, and both body and mind grow more supple and open. As a result, one quickly accumulates merit and purifies obscurations, and one’s practice advances accordingly. In this way, our minds gradually draw nearer to the enlightened domain of the guru and the Three Jewels. The mind of the guru and the Three Jewels is supremely joyful; and when a practitioner begins to taste even the faintest trace of that mind, an incomparable joy arises—a serene joy, imbued with ease and profound magnanimity.
The immeasurable beauty within this experience can only be slowly realized through practice.
