The Flying Carpet of the East By Living Buddha Sheng-yen
Lu This was translated from Grandmaster Lu's 31st book, 東方的飛氈. CHAPTER 28 - The Passage To Death It was a long, lonely and silent road. Its length seemed as unlimited as a superhighway. The wind was blowing. This is what the spirit world is like, not bright, but misty. I saw a woman approaching from the distance and wondered, "Why would a young lady such as this walk on this road?" Drawn by curiosity, I approached her. "Sir! Can you tell me where I am?" She discovered me as if she'd found a savior. "You have died and you are on the passage to death," I replied. "No! I haven't died! I am still alive! See, am I not talking to you now?" "Put your hand into your pocket and take a look," I advised her. She put her hand into her pocket and became immediately frightened. Since her clothes and her body were both transparent, her hands, thrashing in invisible pockets, also were transparent. She was already a spirit. "Where is my body?" she asked in panic. "Look." I pointed to a city far away. The city immediately appeared in front of us and we saw a funeral home in which lay a coffin surrounded by crying people. The corpse was herself. "Oh! Is that me?" She looked at the people who were around the coffin-her father, cousins, classmates and neighbors were weeping and talking sadly. The picture faded. "I don't believe I'm dead! If I'm dead why am I standing here? I don't understand. Where am I going?" She looked at me with large wondering eyes. "Have you died too?" "I travel often between the space of life and death," I answered. "Who are you?" "My name is Lu. How about yours?" "I am Wen." "I guess you committed suicide. Did you take poison?" I saw a dark smoke on top of her head. Those who commit suicide are alone, and have no one to guide them in the spirit world. "Yes," she began to cry. This was her story: Wen's mother died when she was a freshman in college and Wen was already in love. However, her father was a businessman and he wanted her to marry the son of a rich business associate. She refused. Because her father forbade her to marry the one she loved, she took poison. "You really didn't have to commit suicide," I told her. "I had no choice." "You died so young. What a pity and a waste. You have lost the meaning of your life." "It is too late," she wailed. "Where would you like to go now?" "I'd like to see my mother." "Well, I can help you. Close your eyes. Visualize your mother's face. Call her name. Your soul and hers will connect no matter how far away she is. Your mother will appear and guide you to her place." Soon, far away, a face appeared. It was Miss Wen's mother, emanating light. Being an experienced old soul, she drew her daughter to her. Miss Wen's spirit body became smaller and smaller, flying away like a butterfly, merging into the spirit world. The road stretched long and lonely, up and down. I picked up a picture Miss Wen had left. I thought, "On this road will pass many people." The thing I don't understand is, when I woke from meditation the photograph of Miss Wen was still in my hand. |
|
