Why do we feel that we were so absurd in the past?

He Qianxing: A lifetime of absurdity and madness, a handful of bitter tears. After reading many of Dharma Master Shengru's books, following the content and methods in the books, I immersed myself in my own body-and-mind world to observe myself carefully. I would often stand there stunned, carefully observing and contemplating those dharma meanings. The sounds, images, tastes, and tactile sensations outside my body-and-mind world, when truly investigated from the root, are just a bubble synthesized from various factors—the bubble arises and quickly bursts, utterly unattainable, without substance. That conscious mind within, which distinguishes good and bad, wholesome and unwholesome, favorable and unfavorable when contacting sense objects, upon careful scrutiny, is also a bubble, like a flash of lightning—arising through conditions, ceasing when conditions cease—also utterly unattainable, without substance. 

That "I" which believes "I am seeing, I am hearing, I am smelling, I am touching," when observed more deeply, is actually just a cognition, a misidentification. Observing my own body, it is no different from external sense objects; it is also a bubble formed by the combination of various factors, merely a tool, not myself. Since everything in the external world is bubbles, the conscious mind is a bubble, and the body is also a bubble, that cognition which believes there is an "I" and "mine" can only be a misidentification. Therefore, whether our body-and-mind world or the external world, it turns out that everything is an accumulation of bubbles, one bubble linked to another—all dreams, illusions, bubbles, and shadows. 

After observing this point, when I recalled the first half of my life, I suddenly felt it was utterly absurd. Not only absurd, but also ridiculous—like a clown performing an absurd drama so earnestly. Then I began to laugh wildly, laughing uncontrollably with body and mind—laughing at my own earnestness, laughing at those attachments, laughing at how incredibly absurd and ridiculous those delusions and pursuits were. After laughing, suddenly a wave of bitterness surged into my heart, and I began to weep loudly, my whole body trembling, tears and snot streaming down. What was bitter was that all those scenes of sweetness, sourness, bitterness, and spiciness in the past were all suffering I had brought upon myself, needless suffering. After crying and laughing, my whole body and mind entered a state of calm, and I became detached from the external world. Although I still live in this world, everything in the external world seems to have nothing to do with me anymore. My heart only wants to recollect the Buddha and seek rebirth in the Pure Land, to be a fellow worker of the Bodhisattvas. I have lost interest in everything else—no longer wanting to pursue money, no longer wanting to pursue fame and gain, no longer wanting to pursue others' recognition, and not even wanting to pursue those profound theories anymore. 

The world is like a magnet—it used to have very strong magnetism, and I was pulled back and forth by it. But now the magnetism seems to have greatly weakened. Occasionally some delusions and attachments still arise, but there is no subsequent driving force anymore; a few bubbles arise and then vanish, as if rootless. When a thought arises, once observed, the bubble dissipates by itself and cannot form any subsequent substantial action.

Now living in this world, I often have a feeling of living in a dream. I have no sense of investment in this world; I am merely an observer. The observation is just calm, non-deliberate, objective observation, without any mind of "I want to observe." I cannot feel passionate about life, because the engine of seeking outward in my mind has stalled—or is half-dead—only occasionally sputtering feebly a few times. I feel there is nothing worth pursuing in this world; I only want quietude, dislike clamor, live according to conditions, and in dealing with people and affairs, it is as if in a dream.

Saying all this is not to prove myself. In fact, I personally feel I am still at the preliminary stage, and there is still a long road ahead. I only want to show that Dharma Master Shengru's books are books that guide actual practice, not pure theory. Theory is meant to serve as guidance and navigation for observing one's own body-and-mind world; if it is merely used for research, then it has little meaning.

Comment: Watching the changes in your words and conduct over these two years, I feel you are cultivating more and more, with more and more of the bodhisattva nature. It turns out you have such profound self-observation and such profound capacity for awakening. Such wisdom of observation cannot be separated from corresponding meditative power, because it is direct perception, not analysis. Although you did not mention your own meditative concentration, the wisdom of direct perception nevertheless shows itself. Your capacity for awakening has roughly reached the level of entering the stream-entrant stage; it still needs to be combined with the state of your meditative practice to concretely and truthfully judge exactly which stage of cultivation you are currently at. Your mind is currently dwelling in the Small Vehicle's emptiness; the Great Vehicle's emptiness has not yet arisen, so you appear somewhat passive. This is only a preliminary stage. Slowly, with a transcendent mind, enter the world—then it will be perfectly harmonious. Take it step by step, slowly; the result will be perfect and complete. These disciples of ours have truly exceeded my expectations. This master of yours has begun to harvest, and is no longer suffering as bitterly as before. 

He Qianxing: In the past I loved to delve into the Buddhadharma. I read many sutras and also read many of Master's books. But I found that although I understood so much—various theories at my fingertips, even forming a systematic whole—when various states arose, I still could not help but be greedy, be angry. So I came to know that merely delving into theory does not work; one must actually practice. So I put down those theories and focused solely on observing the mind. In the daily activities of moving, standing, sitting, and lying down, when a thought arose I would become aware of it; upon awareness, it would stop; upon stopping, contemplation would arise. Only gradually did I gain a little harvest—all thanks to Master's teaching to practice actually. Body and mind are joyful.