Why do I feel that I was so absurd in the past?

He Qianxing: A lifetime of absurdity and madness, a handful of bitter tears. After reading many of Dharma Master Rusheng's books, following the content and methods in the books, I immersed myself in my own world of body and mind, carefully observing myself. I would often stand there transfixed, carefully observing and contemplating those dharma meanings. The sounds, images, tastes, and tactile sensations outside my world of body and mind, when truly investigated from the root, are just a bubble synthesized from various factors—the bubble rises up 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 even 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 my true self. Since everything in the external world is a bubble, the conscious mind is a bubble, and the body is also a bubble, then that cognition which believes there is a self and that it is me can only be a misidentification. Therefore, whether it is our world of body and mind or the external world, it turns out to be entirely an accumulation of bubbles—one bubble linked to another—all like dreams, illusions, bubbles, and shadows. 

After observing this point, when I recalled the first half of my life, I suddenly felt it was incredibly absurd. Not only absurd, but also ridiculous—like a clown performing an absurd drama with such seriousness. Then I began to laugh wildly, laughing uncontrollably with body and mind—laughing at my own seriousness, 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 self-inflicted suffering, 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 a very strong magnetic force, 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 just arise and then vanish, as if rootless. When a thought arises and is observed, the bubble dissipates on its own and cannot form any subsequent substantial actions.

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 in this world worth pursuing; I only want quietude, dislike clamor, live according to conditions, and in dealing with people and affairs, it is as if in a dream.

In saying all this, I am not trying to prove myself; in fact, I personally feel I am still at an elementary stage, with a long road still ahead. I only want to show that Dharma Master Rusheng'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 world of body and mind; if it is merely used for research, then it has little meaning.

Assessment: Watching the changes in your words and actions over these two years, I feel you are becoming more and more cultivated, more and more endowed with the nature of a Bodhisattva. It turns out you have such profound self-observation, such profound capacity for awakening. Such wisdom of observation cannot be separated from corresponding meditative concentration, because it is direct perception, not analysis. Although you did not mention your own meditative concentration, the wisdom of direct perception nevertheless reveals it. Your capacity for awakening has roughly reached the level of one oriented toward the srotāpanna fruit; it still needs to be combined with the state of your meditative concentration practice before a concrete and accurate judgment can be made as to which stage of cultivation you are currently at. Your mind is currently dwelling in the emptiness of the Small Vehicle; the emptiness of the Great Vehicle has not yet arisen, so you appear somewhat passive. This is only an elementary stage. Slowly, with a transcendent mind, you will re-enter the world, and then it will be perfectly harmonious. Take it step by step, slowly—the results will all be perfect. You disciples of mine have truly exceeded my expectations; this master of yours has begun to reap the harvest, and is no longer struggling so bitterly as before. 

He Qianxing: In the past, I liked to delve deeply into the Buddha's teachings; I read many sutras and also read many of Master's books. But I found that although I understood so much, with various theories at my fingertips—even forming a systematic framework—why was it that when various states arose, I still uncontrollably had to be greedy, to be angry? So I came to know that merely delving into theory will not work. One must actually practice. So I put down those theories and focused only on observing the mind. In the daily activities of walking, 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 bit of realization, all thanks to Master's teaching to engage in actual practice. My body and mind are joyful.