What is the stopping point for us?

Upon reflection, the journey of a human life is merely a long sequence of resting places one after another. To be precise, a human being cannot maintain a permanent association with anything eternal. Within the cycle of the law of nature, all phenomena arise and flow by a single word: Conditionality. Conditions come, conditions go; conditions unite, conditions dissipate; conditions arise, conditions perish. Yet, in the end, everything must be left behind. Left behind in order to set out on the path. When you acquire this, you must accept the loss of that. Without sowing the seed, how can there be the fruit? One hand cannot simultaneously touch the two sensations of hot and cold. The terminology of the Zen school has a profound saying: "The mind has no dual function" Even if you cling, it will eventually slip away. Disappointment and suffering are inevitable if we don't realize this in time. When you abandon old toys, it means you are ready for a new one. You accept bidding farewell to the innocent carefree nature of childhood to gain the experience, worries, and maturity of an adult. You must relinquish the years of diligent study with white chalk and black board to be able to embark on the dusty path. You give up letter A, and you learn letter B, and so you learn the whole alphabet. You leave behind the ocean waves of Nha Trang, and you will reach the flower-filled mountain city of Da Lat. Human life is like a subway journey; it will surely pass through all the stopping points, but have we ever asked ourselves what compels us to leave? It seems everything is an endless, indeterminate flow and we are merely pieces on a chessboard that have not yet escaped the game of arising and perishing in emptiness. 

 

The Buddha once said that all conditioned phenomena are impermanent, changing in every moment. A person who visits the station of joy in the morning may find themselves at the station of sorrow by the afternoon and then continue on to the next station. They keep flowing, continuing endlessly, but who can deny that in those visits, they have never felt an attachment to a resting place? Sometimes we wish the joy could last longer, and the sorrows would be shorter. We even wish them to vanish forever. Such wishful craving easily leads people to impasse and depression, because it goes against the rule of change . Young people often crave the romance and fullness of love, wanting to stay in it forever, wanting to cling to that feeling eternally. But have you ever heard the song "Love is Only Beautiful When Left Unfinished"? Or have you only lent an ear to life once to contemplate the verse "Just Remain Lovers" by musician Trần Quảng Nam? I feel that as long as something is still a process, it remains beautiful and serves as a motivation for people to strive and create. This is what Zen Master Minh Đức Triều Tâm Ảnh calls "the beauty of incompleteness" in his work Hành Hương Tâm Linh (Spiritual Pilgrimage). One must ask: after work is born, an achievement completed, what follows next? It will be an indeterminate moment of silence, a steady progression of leisure time. Or, if one isn't careful, it could give rise to "idle dwelling leads to unwholesomeness", where complacency with victory easily leads to a quagmire on the battlefield.

 

Thinking back, I see that people are often more excited and eager about the atmosphere of preparing for Lunar New Year than actually celebrating it. People are always anxious to follow the plot development of a film, and when it is too captivating, they begin to fear its conclusion. They fear the feeling of hollowness and regret that follows achievement and wholeness. In this way, perhaps living fully in the process is true happiness?

 

I suddenly recall a small story: "There was a wandering orphan child begging for food. Every time he saw the neighborhood children eating a freshly-steamed bun , he would crave it so much that his mouth watered. One time, a group of charity workers visited the village, and by chance, they gave him a steamed bun. No need to describe how happy he felt at that moment; he eagerly took a big bite. The fragrant smell of the bun made him unable to control himself. But then, he suddenly stopped, his expression changed. He gently tore off small pieces and ate them very slowly. Seeing this, a volunteer asked him: 'Is the bun delicious?' He replied: 'Yes, very delicious.' 'Then why are you eating such small pieces and seeming hesitant?' His eyes welled up: 'Since I was small, this is the first time I've ever had a steamed bun. I'm afraid if I eat it quickly, it will be gone.' His honest words suddenly made the volunteer's nose sting, as if someone was clutching her heart. She teared up. She spontaneously hugged him, stroked his head, and quickly slipped him two more buns. She promised to come back next time and bring him many buns."

 

 Sometimes, the unintentional things in life, when they happen at the right time, are the most profound. "I'm afraid if I eat it quickly, it will be gone" is a seemingly innocent statement from a child, but it accurately reflects the deep reality of the human mindset—greed and clinging , always selfishly wanting to hold on, fearing loss. A steamed bun is nothing to a wealthy person, but it is a whole dream for poor, lonely children. Some things we consider trash are the cherished objects of desire and seeking for others. Essentially, nothing that exists in the world is meaningless; all things have their own meaning and value, which the Creator seems to have pre-ordained.

 

 Thinking of this, I suddenly contemplate the path of monastics. In the Saṃyutta Nikāya I, Chapter 4, Māra Saṃyutta, The First Chapter, Sutta on The Snare 2, the Buddha once encouraged his disciples: " Bhikkhus, go on your journey to preach the Dharma, for the happiness and well-being of living beings, for the benefit, happiness and well-being of gods and humans, each of you go in a different direction." The path of the monastic is ultimately a series of leaving behinds and departures. Regardless of the stage of practice, one must not be attached or rest for too long, lest one be left behind without knowing it. If it is called a path or a journey, one can only walk; it is not meant for dwelling. To reach the mountaintop, you must bid farewell to the foot of the mountain. Although there are many thorns and challenges on the road, you must be truly patient and vigorous to move forward. The spiritual practitioner on the path must also make such farewells.

 

 If you want to see the peak, the light, do not foolishly linger or hesitate for any moment or any diversion. Only when you reach Nirvana can you be truly at ease . It sounds simple, but the reality is not so. In those resting places, who knows how many times you have seen pink clouds playing on silver sun; vast skies of flowers and grass; magnificent palaces, purple towers, and golden courts; silk robes, luxurious garments, butterflies, and the fragrance of spring... How many are strong enough to overcome these traps of ephemeral beauty? But one thing is certain: the traveler who reaches the destination will have bloody feet, not to mention a body and mind exhausted and tattered by the wounds of the dusty, windy road. This, too, is a worthy exchange. Naturally, which rose path is not strewn with thorns?

 

Regardless, the monastic on the Eightfold Path must let go of anxieties and afflictions and depart. To depart in order to see, to gain wisdom, and insight. The two words "letting go” seem to be a rather interesting topic of study for the travelers setting out. I suddenly hear faint echoes of certain Sūtra verses in my mind: "All things are merely a raft for crossing the river; the finger pointing at the moon – the finger is not the moon; even the Dhamma must be abandoned, how much more so non-Dhamma..." Ultimately, the means are not the ultimate goal, but to reach the ultimate goal, one needs the means. I hope scholars and those who understand will not confuse this point. And I also hope that the practitioners who vow to live a mindful life will not confuse reality with the dream, so that when we meet by chance, we can offer this self-deprecating poem:

 

I still come and go in freedom,

 Being and non-being are not a question.

 Arrive home, my child, with relaxed steps,

 Not waning or waxing, just one moon.

 

(Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh)

 

Tâm Học

Translated into English by Huynh Vo Cao Tri