A Leaf Sheltered by the Tree.

I wonder what time your “sun” rises each day. For monastics like us, it is exactly 3:30 in the morning, when the Great Bell resounds throughout the monastery grounds, awakening the stillness of the night and signaling the beginning of a new day. The night air remains pure and fresh, and the sounds of the world have yet to stir. Perhaps outside, everyone is still deep in sleep, but here, all of us Dhamma brothers are already awake. We wash up, then quietly form a line and make our way to the first chanting session of the day.

Waking early and looking upon the world in the first light of morning always brings me a strange kind of feeling. In that quiet space, where everything seems perfectly still, one naturally feels there is no need to hurry. With slow and measured steps, rows of people gradually fill the Main Hall. The sound of Buddha recitation and the chanting of the Sangha assembly resonate throughout the space, bringing me a profound sense of peace. As a monastic, I always remember the Buddha’s teaching that the realm in which we live is called the Saha World, meaning the world of “endurance” or “great endurance.” More clearly, because this Saha World is filled with the Five Turbidities, every sentient being born here must endure many things that do not go according to their wishes. This is especially true for those who follow the path of Buddhist practice. They must possess “great endurance” toward all the suffering and afflictions of this world before they can continue their cultivation and attain realization. Perhaps that is why I cherish every peaceful moment I am given all the more, taking it as strength to continue along this monastic path.

When the Buddha was still Prince Siddhartha, he had already come to understand that human life was only a fleeting existence, fragile and brief. And so, he turned away from a life of luxury and ventured alone into the deep mountains and forests in search of the Truth. After many years of diligent cultivation, he finally attained Enlightenment and brought the wondrous Dharma into the world. More than 2,500 years have passed since then, yet the truths he realized and the value of his teachings have never changed. The path he showed us toward liberation from suffering is still there. It is only because sentient beings remain deluded by the Five Desires and Six Dusts, endlessly competing over gains and losses and chasing after all the temporary things of this world, that we have yet to escape the net of ignorance and the cycle of birth and death. Yet there are still those who vow to follow in his footsteps, practicing a life that may be simple and modest, but is filled with peace. That is the life of one who has gone forth into monastic life.

The entire life of a monastic is devoted to only two purposes: liberation and Dharma propagation for the benefit of sentient beings. Simply put, liberation means freeing oneself from the net of ignorance that binds us, gradually moving toward freedom from samsara, the cycle of birth and death. Dharma propagation for the benefit of sentient beings means bringing the Buddha Dharma to everyone, so that their lives may become more peaceful and joyful. Since entering the monastery and living the life of a monastic, I have experienced so much peace and contentment. I think perhaps this is what the Buddha taught as a wholesome karmic affinity. How could it be easy for people who had never known one another, coming from all three regions of the country, to gather beneath the same monastery roof and guide one another along the path of cultivation? And who says that only those connected by blood can be family? Now I have many more Dharma brothers, people with whom I can place my trust and share what is in my heart. And to all of us, our Master is always like a great Father, a shining example for us to follow, whether in the everyday life of monastic practice or in his great vow to propagate the Dharma and guide sentient beings.

Among us Dhamma brothers, some have only recently been ordained, while others have been monastics for more than ten years. But we are all still young, so naturally there have been no shortage of little “mistakes” that made our Master take notice. Sheltered beneath his compassionate presence, I have learned many truly precious lessons. If I were to tell them all, there would be plenty of amusing memories. Even as I write these words, images of us sitting there in confusion, looking helplessly at one another, come back to me and make me smile without realizing it.

We were young, after all. Even as monastics, there were still moments when we wanted to play or sleep a little longer. Usually, we do not eat in the afternoon, so some Dharma brothers who returned late from school and were not yet accustomed to the routine would become hungry. One time, unable to bear it any longer, we came up with an idea. Instead of making instant noodles in a bowl, we made them in cups, thinking that if our Master happened to walk past, even if he saw the cups, he would not see the noodles inside. But perhaps we were too hungry to remember one simple thing: how could instant noodles possibly be made without giving off their unmistakable smell? And so, when our Master walked past, a single glance was enough for him to know exactly what we were doing. But he simply stood there, looking at us and smiling.

There was another time when our little act of mischief was discovered as well. At the  Hoang Phap Patriarchal

Monastery, the monks live in monastic residences numbered from one to four. I stayed in Residence One, which was quite close to our Master’s room, so he often passed through the corridor in front of us. Every Thursday, we Dharma brothers would usually hold a small meeting in the residence to look back on our practice and studies over the previous week. The meeting also happened to take place at the same time our Master would leave our temple to perform prayers for Grandmother (the affectionate name we use for his mother). That day, several brothers had brought back some cakes and drinks to share with the assembly, but no one dared to take them out. Yet less than five minutes after our Master had gone downstairs, we immediately pulled everything out and began preparing our little “feast.” As fate would have it, that was the very day he had forgotten something upstairs and came back to get it. Passing by our room, he was greeted by quite a sight. Only five minutes had passed, yet foods and drinks were already spread everywhere, completely different from how the room had looked before! Nearly twenty Dharma brothers could only sit there frozen, nervously watching our Master standing at the door. It was not until he finally smiled that we dared to breathe a quiet sigh of relief. Looking back now, I still cannot help but laugh at all the times our little schemes ended in failure.

That is simply how our Master is. No matter what we do wrong, he somehow always knows, yet he rarely reprimands us. He does not teach us through verbal instruction alone, but through his own conduct, through lessons reflected in the simple and pure way he lives. I have never once seen our Master become angry. That compassionate and understanding gaze of his is perhaps the deepest wordless teaching he has ever given us. Even when he does not directly remind us of our mistakes, each of us still feels that we should cultivate more diligently, so that we may be worthy of his compassion and worthy of being his disciples.

When it is time to have fun, we certainly know how to enjoy ourselves. But when the time comes for Buddhist practice, everyone is deeply diligent, because Hoang Phap is a disciplined monastic environment with strict schedules, monastic regulations, and precepts. Each day, we have two periods of daily practice, one in the early morning and one in the evening. During the Summer Retreat, or Vassa, there are three. Every morning, after chanting, we all go together to greet our Master and wish him a good day. Each time I join my palms and bow to him, I quietly remind myself that I must continue cultivating and improving myself, so that one day I can contribute something meaningful to society and follow his noble conduct. We do this every day. It may be only a small gesture, yet it always fills me with warmth. Then we each go about our assigned monastic duties: some sweep the courtyard, some cook, while others prepare to leave for school.

After completing our monastic duties, our large family sits down together for breakfast and listens to our Master’s talks. Sometimes he tells us stories from his Dharma propagation journeys near and far. Sometimes he shares the thoughts and concerns that arise along his own path of cultivation. Other times, he tells us amusing little stories he has encountered somewhere along the way, stories that still leave us with much to reflect upon. I do not know when it happened, but the morning “Dharma milk” our Master gives us each day has quietly become a familiar source of spiritual encouragement. Perhaps knowing how much it means to us, whenever Buddhist work takes him far away and he cannot be at the monastery, he records a few short words beforehand for his attendant monk to play for everyone. Our monastic family takes the Six Harmonies as the guiding principle of our life together. We live together, practice together, work together, and because we share that unity of heart, the Buddhist work we undertake often comes to a good and successful completion.

I still remember that morning clearly, when our Master shared with us one of his greatest concerns regarding the work of Dharma propagation for the benefit of sentient beings. Today, some Buddhists believe that Hoang Phap has already become a “wealthy” monastery, so they come only to practice and no longer feel the need to make offerings. They prefer to make offerings only to monasteries that are still poor or lacking in resources. This has become a concern that is difficult for our Master to explain.

It is true that Hoang Phap organizes many retreats throughout the year: seven-day Buddha-recitation retreats, student retreats, one-day retreats, children’s retreats, summer retreats, and many others. The reason there are so many is because our Master’s great vow is to bring the Buddha Dharma to everyone, to people from every walk of life and every age, regardless of whether they are young or old, rich or poor. That is also why no participant is required to pay any fee for any retreat. But then, where does the monastery find the funds to organize large retreats that provide food, accommodation, and daily necessities for several thousand people? It is entirely through the generosity and offerings of lay devotees and benefactors. Whatever offerings our Master receives, he puts them straight back into Buddhist work. Seven-day retreats in particular require enormous resources. If every Buddhist now begins to think that Hoang Phap is already a “wealthy” monastery and no longer needs support, then how can these retreats continue to be organized?

I remember once reading something along these lines: “Every morning, a gazelle wakes up knowing it must run faster than the fastest lion, or it will be killed. Every morning, a lion wakes up knowing it must run faster than the slowest gazelle, or it will starve. Whether you are a gazelle or a lion, when the sun rises, you have to run.” What do you think when you read those words? For me, just those few lines gave rise to so many reflections. It is true that people often feel sympathy for the weak, because it is easy to see them struggling every day simply to survive. But what about the strong? Does being strong mean that one can live comfortably and peacefully without anything to worry about? Living in this Saha World, who among us does not carry concerns of our own? A poor worker worries about each meal, while a company director carries the burden of decisions that may affect the livelihoods of countless workers. The higher one stands, the greater the responsibilities one must carry, and the more carefully and accurately one must think.

I too am a monastic, living far from my loved ones and family in pursuit of a life that may be modest in material things but noble in spiritual purpose. Yet whenever I think of my Master, I feel so small, like a leaf drawing nourishment from the great ancient tree beneath whose shelter it grows stronger year after year. I know there is still so much I need to learn and cultivate within myself. And I am always quietly grateful for everything, grateful to my Master and grateful to life for giving me the opportunity to walk this path, a path of practice through which I may find peace and happiness here in the present moment, and fulfill the aspiration to live for others as the Patriarchs once taught: “Above, seek the Buddha Way; below, transform sentient beings.”

Perhaps these words sound lofty and distant, but anyone who wishes to succeed must have a purpose and an ideal to strive toward. We should never assume that something is beyond us and give up before we have even tried. The moment we think that way, we have already been defeated within our own minds. I know there are still many difficulties on the road ahead, but I also know that I am not alone. I still have my Master, my Dharma brothers, and wise spiritual friends beside me to guide and encourage me in my cultivation. My only hope in this life is that I may do something useful for society, help myself and those around me find greater peace and happiness, and contribute even a small part of my strength toward the propagation and flourishing of Buddhism in my country. If I can do that, then I will already feel that this life has not been lived in vain.

A monastic life finds joy through simplicity and freedom through pure discipline. May we all follow our Master’s example and forever preserve the noble aspiration with which we first began:

Leave behind worldly form, preserve noble integrity

Leave attachment, part from those held us

Go forth to transmit the Buddha Dharma

Vowing to liberate all sentient beings.

 

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