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. Once I visited a friend in a fishing port called Tung-Kang (Eastern Harbour). My friend also had another guest from Fan-Ch'ung City. His name was Wen Tung-shan. When he heard who I was he cried out, "Ah! My trip is more than worthwhile now that I see you! I have been to your house but I never got to see you." "Sorry. I am always out," I murmured. "I have written to you, but I got no response!" "I am sorry. I receive dozens of letters every day. I hardly have time to read them. I can't respond to most of them. It is a burden to me." "Mister Lu, look at my eyes!" Wen said, "Do you see anything different?" I looked closely, then shook my head. Mr. Wen's eyes were very clear. Nothing strange. "Look again," he begged. I used my psychic eye to take a closer look. This time I saw a large pond and a flowing river. I didn't know what it meant, but I told my friend and Mr. Wen what I saw. Wen was silent a moment, then said, "Very interesting." Our host smiled and nodded. "What you have seen makes sense," he said. Mr. Wen then told me that when he was eighteen, one night before he went to bed he suddenly began to cry without apparent reason. Tears flowed until he was exhausted. The experience left him puzzled, but he didn't pay much attention to it. Since then, he found himself crying every night before he slept. Even after a happy day, he cried before going to sleep. He began to avoid seeing friends in the evening because of it. Mr. Wen was forty. He had been crying for twenty-two years-more than eight thousand times. "What happens during the day?" I asked. "Nothing is wrong during the day." "Have you seen doctors?" "Yes, all kinds. Even psychiatrists. Nobody knows the reason." "This is the first I've heard of such a thing," I said honestly. "Mister Lu, can you help me find the reason?" "I will," I promised. I stayed at my friend's house and that evening I asked him to bring incense. I showered and prepared myself to meditate. I wrote Mr. Wen's birthrate on yellow rice paper, then burned the birthrate and meditated for guidance. Soon in the circle of light a funny-looking monk appeared. He didn't look like a monk, but he dressed like one. He held chanting beads in his hands and continually recited: "Amitaba Buddha." I saw him asking for donations from house to house. Then, happily, the monk would go off to enjoy food and drink. I saw him go into the temple to ask the resident monk for money. He said, "Amitaba Buddha, the great compassionate Bodhisattva, my money was lost because of a pickpocket. I need to go home. Will you loan me some money?" He asked for charity money from philanthropists, telling them about nursing homes and hospitals that would be built. But once while he was at this he was recognized as a cheater. Someone cried out, "Yesterday we saw him in another temple asking for money to go home and today he is here asking for money again. He is a swindler. Don't give him anything!" "Amitaba Buddha! I am a vegetarian. Look, I even have chanting beads!" He drew these out quickly as if they would protect him. "Clearly! He is a swindler!" shouted another. "Amitaba Buddha! You are mistaking me for someone else! If I am cheating let my tears never stop!" After that the light circle became smaller and smaller and I awakened from my meditation. The second day Mr. Wen asked me if I saw anything. "Sorry. I didn't see anything." "I knew you'd never be able to find out." "You're right," I said. |
|
