A Bodhisattva who practices the Six Perfections and the myriad virtuous deeds (Six Pāramitās, ṣaṭpāramitā) will, in the course of benefiting boundless sentient beings, give rise to countless vows. For example: “May I become clothing to benefit sentient beings; may I become food and drink to benefit sentient beings…”
In one of his past lives, Śākyamuni Buddha even reborn as a fish. During a great famine, seeing the suffering of sentient beings, he leapt into the river and made a vow to become a great fish to benefit them (for he possessed the karmic merit to be reborn as such a great fish) . After becoming a fish, he told the people, “You may eat my flesh to relieve your hunger and be fully nourished. In the future, when I attain Buddhahood, I will nourish and liberate you with the food of the Dharma.” Those who ate the flesh of the great fish later gave rise to loving-kindness, and at the time of their deaths were reborn in the heavenly realms. He carried out countless acts of this kind.
We might find this hard to believe: how could he possibly reborn as a great fish after dying? That is simply reverting to a materialist standpoint. All appearances arise from the mind—let alone becoming a great fish, even becoming an even greater fish would be possible. This was how a Bodhisattva acted while still on the causal ground. After attaining Buddhahood, could he still do this? Yes—he could do even more, and even more powerfully. Never regard the Buddha’s Dharma Body (dharmakāya) as something detached from causes and conditions. If you see it as separate from causes and conditions, then all of this becomes impossible. But if you see the Dharma Body as everything—as the very ground of the mind, the root of your own mind—then all of this is perfectly valid.
In Introduction to the Middle Way (Madhyamakāvatāra), there is a metaphor: before a potter makes a jar, he must vigorously spin the wheel again and again. When it reaches a certain point, he can let go, and the wheel will continue to turn on its own. The meaning of this is that, on the Bodhisattva path, vows are continuously accumulated, again and again. Buddhahood is not the entry into a rigid, unmoving, non-discriminating state. To become a Buddha means that all attachments within the mind—the grasping at self and the grasping at phenomena (ātmagrāha, self-grasping;dharmagrāha, dharma-grasping)—have completely ceased. Once these two kinds of grasping are gone, the mind naturally carries out all kinds of activities that benefit sentient beings, in accordance with diverse causes and conditions. The mind itself does not discriminate, yet it can give rise to many corresponding discriminations in response to the discriminative tendencies of sentient beings. These discriminations are not its own; it never takes itself as the basis for discrimination.
Buddhahood has three defining characteristics: first, emptiness; second, wishlessness; and third, signlessness—the Three Gates of Liberation ( śūnyatā, emptiness; apraṇihita, wishlessness,; animitta, signlessness). Emptiness means the absence of any inherent essence—no substantial reality can be found at all. Wishlessness means that one no longer relies on aspirational striving; it is not accomplished through discriminative thought. At this point, the absence of discriminative thought does not mean that nothing functions. This is because a Buddha is not some hollow nothingness; a Buddha is luminous awareness. What are the qualities of luminous awareness? It never declines nor is it ever lost—therefore it is constant. It knows all things—therefore it is all-pervasive. And it manifests in accordance with the varying causes and conditions of sentient beings—this is called spontaneity , effortless accomplishment (anābhoga). “Spontaneity ” means it is in continual transformation. The greater the prayer, the greater its power; the deeper the practice, the greater its efficacy.
The Buddha’s activity has three characteristics: constancy, pervasiveness, and spontaneous accomplishment—and these are also the characteristics of our own intrinsic luminosity. What does intrinsic luminosity contain? The dharmakāya as emptiness, the sambhogakāya as luminosity, and the nirmāṇakāya as great compassion that pervades everywhere. In fact, this all-pervasive great compassion also implies continuity—it is always present. Moreover, the way great compassion pervades is itself spontaneous and effortless, and emptiness itself is likewise spontaneously accomplished. All of these are nothing other than the inherent qualities of our own mind’s true nature.
Therefore, the benefits of praying before the Buddha are truly inconceivable. Although the results of prayer may not be immediate or dramatic, there will certainly be an extraordinary power that touches your original aspiration and continually strengthens and enhances it. When we genuinely engage in prayer, we should not expect instant results. You must trust that perseverance will definitely have an effect. If you continue praying over a long period of time, you will gradually discover that all kinds of factors begin to propel you forward, guiding you in the direction of your vows.
Why is it that many people cannot feel this? Usually it is because they give up halfway—after practicing for a few years, they feel it is no longer working. They do not realize that those intermediate years are the most painful ones. It is not that practice has no effect; rather, it is helping you remove past karmic obscurations, removing the obstacles that prevent you from receiving extraordinary blessings and attaining exceptional accomplishments. During the process of removing karmic obscurations, you will not feel any “sunshine.” Instead, you will experience the pain of eliminating ignorance, because you are attached to ignorance itself. At this point, people often cannot persevere any longer. While the more steadfast may persist for a decade or moe, those with less resolve might only last a few years.
To study and practice Buddhism, one must persevere over the long term. One should not stop until death; not stop without awakening; not stop even after awakening—in principle, one should not stop until Buddhahood is attained. But that is not how we usually are. After practicing for a few years, a hidden expectation arises in our minds: “What result should I be getting? I have prostrated so many times; I have already completed the Five Preliminary Practices—why am I still like this?” In fact, this is not the right way to see it. When practice seems ineffective, it is because your mind has not truly opened, and because you have not been practicing in a way that is genuinely in accordance with the Dharma.
The nature of the mind is this: whatever your mind is like, that is how you are. If the mind is joyful, you are joyful; if the mind is entangled, you are entangled. Wherever there is attachment, there is entanglement. If you wish to obtain the merit of the Dharma, your mind must be free, open, full, and joyful. Suffering is always attachment; doubt indicates ignorance—it is that simple. Practice is this direct. Yet we always hope for immediate results, and that is why so many people cannot keep going. Remember this about the process of practice: very often, practice is exhausting. Why? Because it cuts off your former sources of happiness and abruptly severs your old worldview, while the new one has not yet been established—there is a gap, a period of “neither here nor there.”
If you persist, good news will surely appear. And for us Vajrayāna practitioners, under no circumstances should we give rise to doubt toward the guru. In Vajrayāna there is a saying: “If you regard the guru as an ordinary person, then the siddhi you obtain will be no more than what you gain in front of a dog.” This is a truly frightening matter. You must habitually regard the guru as the dharmakāya; from that perspective, there is no right or wrong. And you must never think, “This is my own merit.” When there is no “I,” how could there be personal merit? Everything good is the guru’s merit; everything negative is one’s own karmic obscuration.
Studying Buddhism is precisely about dismantling the self. If self-grasping is not destroyed, how could liberation ever occur? Why is there suffering? Because the “I” has been hurt—feelings of grievance and pain are all the workings of self-grasping. When we feel joy, it is all the guru’s blessing—this is an exceptionally profound form of guru yoga. It is not easy to practice, especially for us Chinese practitioners: arrogant, self-assured, understanding nothing yet believing we understand everything—so we cannot carry on, and after a couple of days there seems to be no effect. These principles may sound simple, but if you sincerely put them into practice over several years, results will definitely appear. You may feel that you have gained nothing at all, but your mind will certainly become free, open, and joyful.
People earn money simply to obtain happiness, yet wealth is always tainted and conditioned—being a tycoon is practically a high-risk occupation. By contrast, the peace and joy obtained through reliance on the guru are never flawed, and they grow stronger and stronger. The principle itself is not profound; it is simply that we lack the willingness to persevere.
This article is a preliminary translation draft and has not yet been reviewed or proofread by the speaker.
