( ….. )
Avery Lin:
So… did you have any sort of plan back then?
Like — did you aim for certain big temples, or dream of going to Tibet, or even India, like Tang Sanzang from Journey to the West?
Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma smiles gently — a smile full of quiet memories.)
A clear plan? Not really, no.
All I had in my mind was what the high monk told me:
“Wander the world. Seek the Law everywhere.”
He didn’t say where to go. He didn’t name any temples or mountains.
In fact, he said very clearly — “You must not settle in any one temple.”
As for Tang Sanzang heading west to get the scriptures…
That was a grand pilgrimage, with a clear destination from the start.
Me? I was nothing like that.
I was just a man — a sinner — carrying the weight of regret and a vow to find the True Law.
At first, I just thought: go.
Wherever there’s a temple or a Taoist sanctuary — stop by.
Listen. Learn.
If I heard of sacred mountains, or places known for spiritual masters — I’d try to find my way there.
Ask around. See if any monks or Taoists were known for their virtue — maybe they could teach me something.
The only compass I had… was this vague inner knowing.
This urge that said: “Keep going — you’ll find it. Keep seeking — you’ll see.”
My only luggage was the Dao De Jing and a sincere heart.
So I walked.
I asked questions.
I observed.
I listened.
Sometimes… I’d just follow a hunch.
A path would catch my eye — feel like it was calling to me — and I’d follow it.
But a mapped-out plan? A clear goal like “go to Tibet” or “go to India”?
No.
Not from the start.
I did end up visiting those places later on — but that was much further down the road.
It wasn’t part of the beginning.
My journey… it was more like a stream, Avery.
Winding, weaving.
Flowing around rocks.
Slipping through crevices.
But always… always heading for the great ocean — the True Law I longed for.
(Uncle Ma pauses, taking another sip of tea.
Outside the window, dusk has begun to settle.
Everything is bathed in a warm orange hue.
The room falls into a deeper, peaceful stillness.)
Avery Lin:
So… did your grandfather give you any guidance beyond that? I mean, when he handed you the Dao De Jing, did you actually understand it much at the time?
I imagine, for a young man without any spiritual background or life experience, trying to grasp a book like the Dao De Jing must’ve been quite a challenge!
Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma nods gently, gazing as if at the invisible book in the air, then turning his eyes back to Avery.)
My grandfather… like I said, he wasn’t one to talk much, or give direct instructions.
His way was more… living it. Letting silence be the teacher.
When he handed me that copy of the Dao De Jing, he didn’t explain a single line, didn’t lecture me about its meaning.
He just said, “This is all I have to give you. Keep it well.”
And you know, at that moment… his action, his gaze — it spoke more than a thousand words.
It felt like he was entrusting me with something — silently believing that this book would be my companion, my compass for the road ahead.
That, I think, was the greatest guidance he could’ve given me.
As for understanding the Dao De Jing… you’re absolutely right.
I was just seventeen or eighteen then — full of revolutionary fire, fresh out of a life-altering crisis, with zero grounding in Buddhism or Taoism.
Trying to read Laozi’s words… it was overwhelming.
(Uncle Ma chuckles softly — a hint of self-deprecation in his smile.)
At first? Honestly, it was like water off a duck’s back.
I could read the characters, sure, but the deeper meaning? Totally lost on me.
“Dao ke dao, fei chang Dao; ming ke ming, fei chang ming…”
I read it over and over, and it still felt like fog.
A lot of the time, I just wanted to give up. It was too obscure. Too hard.
But the book… it had this strange pull.
Even when I didn’t understand, I kept reading it.
I read it while resting by the roadside.
Read it under a hazy moonlight when I couldn’t find shelter.
Read it on an empty stomach.
It became a quiet companion.
Something that helped me forget the cold, the loneliness.
Eventually, I stopped trying to “understand” it with logic.
I just… read.
Let the words sink into me, naturally.
And then… years later, across the long road of hardship, after meeting so many kinds of people, seeing so many sides of life…
those teachings from the Dao De Jing slowly began to reveal themselves.
Stuff I didn’t get before — suddenly, after some experience, some hardship — it would just click.
I’d go “Ahh… so that’s what it means!”
And it would hit so deep.
Like, when I faced rejection and scorn from others… I’d think of those lines about the humility and softness of water.
When I saw the impermanence of worldly affairs… I’d reflect on the “unnaturalness” of the Dao.
Little by little… the Dao De Jing became not just a book I read — but a mirror I used to reflect on life.
It wasn’t a roadmap with clear turns and signs.
But it was a lantern — lighting up dark corners in my heart.
Helping me see things with more calm, more depth.
Maybe… maybe it was destiny.
Maybe that book was meant to walk with me — from the very start, when the road was hardest.
(Uncle Ma falls quiet again.
Outside, the rustle of leaves continues softly.
The sky has deepened in color — the day nearing its end.)
Avery Lin:
Listening to you now… I can’t help but think of how your cultivation path reminds me a bit of Sun Wukong. You know — how he studied Taoist arts under Patriarch Bodhi and mastered all those transformations, then later followed the Buddhist path with Tang Sanzang to fetch the scriptures and eventually became the “Victorious Fighting Buddha.”
I’m sorry if that’s a silly comparison — it just struck me, since you were carrying the Dao De Jing while also shaving your head and entering the Buddhist path.
Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma smiles warmly, clearly amused and touched by Avery’s comparison.)
Not silly at all, Avery.
Actually, that’s quite an interesting way to put it.
Sun Wukong is a very unique character — and his journey has a lot of hidden layers about cultivation, if you think about it.
You’re right — carrying the Dao De Jing while becoming a Buddhist monk might seem like two different paths.
But now, looking back, I do feel a bit like Wukong.
I was given a Taoist classic by my grandfather… but I was led into Buddhism by the vision of that high monk in my dream.
When I chose to become a monk — it was because that image of the Buddhist master had been burned into my mind.
That was what led me to shave my head, to put on the brown robe.
It was a new beginning.
An outward change — a symbol of leaving my old, misguided life behind.
And yet… the Dao De Jing remained with me.
It was my grandfather’s gift.
My companion.
I didn’t feel any contradiction back then.
As I wandered, seeking the Way… I read it, meditated on it.
Every time I faced hardship or came across something puzzling…
those ancient words from Laozi — or lines from Buddhist texts I happened to hear —
they’d light up something in me.
They were like little lanterns, showing me the next step.
To me… the sages of old — whether Taoist or Buddhist — they all taught people to be good, to live with kindness, to transcend suffering.
So I thought: whichever path I follow, they’ll all lead somewhere good.
(Uncle Ma pauses, his gaze drifting slightly — thoughtful.)
Of course… that was my understanding back then.
Many years later, when I had the chance to receive the true Dafa, I came to realize much more deeply what it means to walk a non-dual path —
the importance of being single-minded in cultivation.
My perspective on all that changed entirely.
But that came later — when the time was right.
At the beginning…
I was just a beggar with a weathered book, chasing a faint light ahead.
And to me, the teachings of the enlightened ones — they all seemed to point in the same direction: toward goodness.
Just like Sun Wukong —
first studying the Tao under Patriarch Bodhi, then following Tang Sanzang, going through trial after trial, bound by the golden hoop…
and finally becoming the Victorious Fighting Buddha.
Maybe every stage… was a necessary preparation.
A process of tempering.
(Uncle Ma turns to look at Avery, his eyes filled with encouragement.
He’s clearly pleased to see her pondering things deeply —
a sign of someone sincerely seeking the Way, someone who truly reflects on the spiritual path.)
Avery Lin:
So after that early stage… how did your journey unfold?
Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma lets out a long breath, as if bracing himself to recount a chapter filled with hardship. The evening light has fully faded now, and the little house is wrapped in a gentle twilight. He reaches over and turns on a small table lamp. A warm golden glow spreads across the room.)
After all the confusion and early struggles, that’s when the real journey began — a true wandering of the four directions, just like the high monk had instructed. And it wasn’t a short trip, Avery. It stretched out over nearly thirty years. Thirty years of wandering. Thirty years of tasting every bitter and sweet flavor life has to offer. Thirty years of facing trials so intense… that sometimes, life and death felt just a breath apart.
My footprints are scattered across countless temples and Taoist sanctuaries — not just the well-known ones, but remote, hidden places too. I traveled from lush lowlands to the desolate plateaus of Tibet. And sometimes, fate carried me beyond China’s borders — into Buddhist regions like India, Nepal, even down to Thailand. Whenever I heard whispers of sacred mountains, ancient temples, or reclusive sages… I’d go. Always hoping — just maybe — that I’d find the True Law.
That path… it was a constant struggle for survival. Hunger and cold became daily companions. Sometimes I’d go days without a single meal — begging for scraps to get by. At night, the eaves of temples, under bridges, behind markets, caves, tree roots — they all became “home.” I’ve felt the bone-piercing chill of northern winters… the blistering heat of southern summers… and the endless rain and wind with nowhere to hide.
Sickness didn’t spare me either. I had bouts of jungle malaria, dysentery — they ravaged my body. There were times I really thought I wouldn’t make it. Lying unconscious deep in the forest, with only my vow — and the memory of that high monk — keeping me tethered to life.
Then there were the dangers along the road. Being robbed was almost lucky. Once, I was even tricked by someone pretending to be a monk — he stole the very robe off my back. Wild animals on remote mountain trails. Sudden slips that nearly sent me over a cliff. Almost drowning while crossing a river. So many things… too many to count.
(His voice lowers, heavy with the weight of those years.)
Hunger and cold were constant, sure. But the thing that wears you down the most… isn’t the physical hardship. It’s the rejection. The way people look at you. The suspicion. The scorn. People thinking you’re a scammer, or a spy. Those stares… sometimes they hurt more than any beating.
And then… the loneliness. Those long nights… with no one else around. Just you — facing yourself. Your weaknesses. Your doubts. Missing home… missing the people you left behind. There were moments when I asked myself: Am I really on the right path? Was this worth it?
(Uncle Ma pauses for a moment. The silence settles thick between them. Only their breathing fills the room.)
And yet, Avery… it was in that endless hardship that my faith became stronger. And oddly enough… it was in the darkest, most hopeless moments… that I experienced the most miraculous things. Things beyond belief. Things that gave me just enough strength… to keep walking.
Avery Lin:
Yes… a thirty-year journey to seek the Way… That’s longer than I’ve even been alive. It sounds like you went through countless trials — almost like the tribulations in Journey to the West. But in the middle of all that… were there more signs? More moments of insight? Surely a journey like that came with incredible encounters too?
Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma nods, his eyes drifting far, as if flipping through the pages of a distant memory.)
Yes, thirty long years. If not for those flashes of hope amidst despair… If not for those moments of clarity, those unexpected encounters… I don’t think I could’ve made it. There were so many trials, I lost count.
I remember one winter — I was deep in the northern mountains. Snow covered everything in white. Temples were shut tight. Not a soul around. I found a small cave and curled up inside, trying to survive the night. I had no food left — hadn’t eaten in days. I was freezing. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I just sat there, huddled, clutching the Dao De Jing to my chest, trying to keep warm… trying to stay awake. I really thought… I might die there. In that half-conscious daze, I saw the high monk again. He didn’t speak — just looked at me. Kindly. Reassuringly. When I woke up, the snow had stopped. Morning light was breaking. Somehow… I had a little strength. Just enough to get up, start walking. A bit down the mountain, I met a hunter. He gave me some dried rations and pointed the way to a small village. That time… I truly escaped death by a hair.
Another time, I had jungle fever in the southern borderlands. I was in a collapsed grass hut — no medicine, no one to care for me. At one point, I gave up. I really thought, “This is it.” But in my fever dream… I saw myself walking barefoot on a road covered in thorns. It hurt like hell. But at the end… there was this bright, radiant light. When I came to, there was an old ethnic woman sitting beside me. She’d found me — brought a bowl of herbal tea. I drank it… and my fever broke. She told me she’d seen me lying there for days — thought I wasn’t going to make it. Moments like those… They made me believe there really was a guiding light. That somehow… I wasn’t walking this path alone.
As for encounters — yes, there were many. I remember once I went to Mount Song, where the famous Shaolin Temple is. By that time, Shaolin had already changed a lot. It no longer held that sacred, ancient air people speak of in legends. But still… I hoped to meet a true cultivator. I wandered around the area for days. And then I noticed an old monk. He was very plain-looking, always sitting alone under a great old tree on the mountainside — far from the tourist paths. Every day I saw him — just sitting there, quiet, like he was part of nature itself. Eventually, I gathered the courage to approach him. I bowed and asked humbly if I could receive some teaching. He slowly opened his eyes, looked me over, and smiled — a gentle smile. He didn’t ask me where I was from or what I wanted to learn. He just said: “If the heart is sincere, even stone will open. But the stones here are worn down — the Law no longer dwells in this place. Head south. There are higher mountains there… whiter clouds.” Then he closed his eyes again. Said nothing more.
I stood there for a long while, trying to digest his words. “Stones here are worn… the Law no longer dwells…” It felt like cold water thrown on my hopes. I had come all that way to Shaolin… hoping to find something. But then the next part — “Go south, where the mountains are higher and the clouds are whiter” — it was like a signpost. A subtle push in a new direction. I didn’t receive any concrete teachings. But I felt a deep compassion in his words. A wisdom that ran far, far beneath the surface. So I bowed. Thanked him. And left quietly. But in my heart, a new resolve had begun to flicker. A new direction — however hazy — was taking shape.
Encounters like that… Even if brief… They were like little lighthouses — helping me find my bearings in a vast sea of confusion. They also showed me that true cultivators… they don’t sit in flashy halls or draw big crowds. They live quietly. Blended into the world. Peaceful. Humble.
(Uncle Ma pauses. He looks out the window. The sun has nearly vanished. Golden light spills over the landscape. And in the stillness, the soft hum of insects begins to rise.)
Avery Lin:
That high monk at Shaolin Temple… he must’ve seen deeply — understood something about your destiny, your path.
These moments of insight… the fated encounters that cultivators like you experience while seeking the Way… they’re always so moving and inspiring — especially for younger cultivators like me.
But it’s getting late now. The sun is nearly gone behind the mountains…
I think we should pause here for today. Would it be alright if we continued tomorrow?
Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma nods, his warm smile still resting gently on his face.
He glances out the window one more time, watching the last rays of sunset spill in brilliant orange across the mountain peaks in the distance… then turns back to Avery.)
Yes, of course, Avery. You’re right — the day’s winding down.
And these stories… they’re long.
Not something to rush through.
Let’s pause for now.
If you have time tomorrow, we can pick up where we left off.
(He stands, stretching just slightly, then looks at Avery with gentle affection.)
I’m glad I could share these old memories with you.
Seeing how attentively you listen — and how deeply you reflect — it reminds me of myself in those early years.
That same longing… that same sincere heart seeking the Way.
Alright then — go get some rest.
And be careful on the mountain path at night.
(…..)
This article is an excerpt from the book “ENTERING THE WORLD“, which tells the story of a Chinese monk’s more than 60-year journey of seeking and practicing the Dharma.
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