DAY THREE

Avery Lin:
Hello, Uncle Ma. I’m back to continue listening to your stories…

Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma looked up from the book he had been reading and gently set it down on the table. That familiar warm smile lit up his face as he saw Avery.)

Hello, Avery. Please, have a seat. I was looking forward to your visit.
Today, we’ll talk about a phase in my life that was perhaps the most meaningful—a true turning point after thirty long years of searching.

(He poured tea. The scent of afternoon tea leaves once again filled the small room, blending with the soft golden sunlight streaming through the window. The atmosphere remained quiet and cozy, just like the previous visits.)

Avery Lin:
Yes, yesterday you shared with me some of the extraordinary encounters and lessons from your thirty-year journey in search of the Way…
Would you start today by telling me how you eventually came to obtain the Fa?

Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma nodded, setting his teacup gently on the table. That same gentle smile returned, and a bright, joyful light appeared in his eyes.)

After so many years of wandering—so many hopes followed by disappointment, so many times thinking I had found it only to see it slip away—around the year 1996, when I was nearly fifty, it seemed that fate was finally ready to open a door.

At that time, I was resting temporarily at a small, secluded temple in the Inner Mongolia region. My health had already deteriorated from years of exposure to the elements. One afternoon, while helping sweep the temple courtyard, I had the chance to converse with the elderly abbot. He, too, was advanced in years, but his eyes remained sharp—radiating compassion and wisdom.

I honestly shared with him my thirty-year journey in search of the Way—my hardships, my doubts, and even the times I almost strayed down the wrong path.
The old abbot listened in silence, occasionally nodding.
When I finished, he looked at me for a long time—his gaze seemed to pierce straight into my soul.
Then he slowly said something—his voice wasn’t loud, but it echoed in my heart like a bell:
“Child… Changxing, your desire to seek the Way is admirable. Your perseverance has become complete.
It may be that your destined moment has come.
Go south—go to the city of Beijing.
There, you will obtain the Fa.”

When I heard him say that, my heart pounded.
“Obtain the Fa… in Beijing?”
Over the past thirty years, I had heard countless suggestions, countless refusals.
I had hoped and despaired more times than I could count.
But this time—for some reason—even though a trace of doubt remained, I felt a powerful intuition rise within me.
The abbot’s words, his eyes—there was a weight, a certainty to them that I had never felt before.

(Uncle Ma paused, took a sip of tea, and gazed off into the distance, as though reliving that fateful moment.)

I stayed at the temple for a few more days, and the abbot’s words kept echoing in my mind.
Beijing… a massive metropolis, the nation’s capital—could that really be the place where the True Fa awaited me?
How could a wandering seeker like me possibly find anything in that vast sea of people?

But that intuition… that glimmer of hope, long dormant in my heart, suddenly reignited.
I thought, I’ve already spent thirty years walking this path, suffering so many trials—if there’s even the faintest chance, I must pursue it.
If I don’t go, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

So I made the decision to depart.
I bid farewell to the elderly abbot, carrying in my heart what felt like one final hope—and also a surrender to fate.
The journey from Inner Mongolia to Beijing wasn’t without difficulty, but strangely, I felt a new strength in me.
My steps felt lighter, my spirit somehow renewed.

When I arrived in Beijing, it was grand and crowded—so different from the remote mountain regions I was used to.
I managed to find temporary lodging at a small temple on the outskirts—a quiet and modest place.
After settling in for a day or two, besides helping with chores, I kept my ears and eyes open—silently watching and listening, hoping to find a clue about the “Fa” the abbot had spoken of.
There was a quiet restlessness in me, a silent anticipation…

Until, one early morning, as the first light of dawn broke through the sky—

(Uncle Ma’s voice grew slightly choked, his eyes shimmering with emotion as he recalled this pivotal moment.)

Avery Lin:
Yes, from what I’ve learned, by 1996 Falun Dafa had already spread widely in major cities.
Did you face any difficulties when you first encountered Dafa?
Did you recognize it immediately when it was introduced to you?

Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma nodded gently, a faint smile forming on his lips—the kind of smile one wears before recounting something wondrous.)

Just as you said, I later found out that by 1996, Dafa had already been widely spread in Beijing and many other large cities.
But for me at that time—a man who had just come down from the remote mountains of Inner Mongolia, temporarily staying at a small temple in the suburbs—those things were completely foreign.
I had no idea that there was a cultivation practice that so many people were already learning.

Fate led me to it in the most natural way, Avery.
There wasn’t any active searching from me once I arrived in Beijing—just that vague hope still burning quietly within.

As I mentioned earlier, after staying at the temple for a day or two, one early morning before the dew had even lifted, I was awakened not by the temple’s usual bell, but by a strange and beautiful sound.
It was exercise music—gentle, serene, harmonious—but it carried with it an incredibly powerful energy of compassion.
That music seemed to possess a magical pull—it seeped into every corner of my heart and soul, washing away all weariness and sorrow.
It echoed from the front courtyard of the temple.

Curious, I quietly stepped outside to look.
What I saw left me stunned.
Under the soft light of dawn, about thirty people—young and old, men and women—were practicing a set of elegant, graceful movements.
Their motions were fluid, peaceful, and somehow solemn—ancient.
Each face radiated a profound calm and serenity.

As I watched them practice, a strange feeling stirred inside me.
There was something deeply familiar about it all—like I had seen it before, perhaps in a distant dream, or maybe in a memory from a previous life that I couldn’t quite grasp.
It wasn’t like any martial art or qigong I had encountered in the past thirty years.
There was something truly unique about it—something incredibly pure.

I just stood there, silently observing, afraid to disturb them.
I was both curious and filled with a strange, inexplicable yearning.

Then, as the group began the fifth exercise—the seated meditation—something truly extraordinary happened.
I felt as though some invisible force was gently pulling me forward.
Without a second thought, without hesitation, I stepped forward and quietly took a seat at the back of the group.
I crossed my legs into the double-lotus position, imitating their posture.

At that moment, I had no idea what practice they were doing.
No one had invited me or guided me.
It was simply an irresistible impulse from deep within.

And then… the miracle happened.
Within just thirty minutes of meditating in that tranquil, pure state, accompanied by that compassionate music—
my celestial eye suddenly opened!

(Uncle Ma’s voice trembled. His eyes glistened with tears as he recalled that sacred moment.
He paused briefly to let the emotions settle.)

It’s an experience I will never forget for the rest of my life, Avery.
It wasn’t like the dreams or vague intuitions I’d had before.
This time, everything appeared vividly—clearly—like reality itself…

Avery Lin:
Wow… Opening your celestial eye during your very first time practicing—
that’s incredibly rare.
What did you see through the celestial eye that shook you so deeply?
But even if it wasn’t much—after thirty years of seeking—even just a glimpse must have been soul-stirring!

Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma nodded, his eyes still carrying the awe of that moment.
He gently rubbed his brow, as if to see the past more clearly.)

Yes, that’s right, Avery. Later, after I officially began practicing, I learned that to have one’s celestial eye open so strongly the very first time — that was truly rare, a special arrangement by Master. Perhaps those thirty years of enduring hardships and maintaining a sincere heart to seek the Way were part of the reason such a great blessing was bestowed.

When my celestial eye suddenly opened, the first thing I saw wasn’t the space around me anymore — but like a slow-motion film… memories of my own life, not this life — but lives from long, long ago.
(Uncle Ma’s voice lowered, filled with deep emotion.) I clearly saw myself in a past life as a mid-ranking military officer of Shu Han during the Three Kingdoms period. I was completely loyal to General Guan Yu. I saw myself fighting alongside him — life and death on the battlefield. Then came the tragic Battle of Maicheng. As Guan Yu was defeated, I was one of the last soldiers standing by his side… and I died with him. That sense of heroic loyalty and fierce sacrifice — I could still feel it vividly, as if it had happened just yesterday.

Then another scene appeared. I saw myself as a Chancellor during the late Tang Dynasty — an upright, virtuous official, filled with ambition to reform the nation and save it from decline. I served for nearly a decade, offering many petitions and policies, but the emperor was deluded, favoring corrupt ministers and ignoring my advice. Disheartened by the situation, helpless to stop the empire’s fall, I eventually resigned and retired to a mountain retreat, seeking peace for my soul. The sorrow of a loyal minister who failed to turn the tide, that lingering anguish — it too was painfully real.

There were other glimpses as well, though less clear. But just those two were enough to make me realize — the human soul doesn’t begin and end with this one life. We’ve lived countless lives, played countless roles, endured joys and sorrows again and again in this endless cycle of reincarnation.

And then — suddenly — the scene changed. Before me was no longer the past, but other realms, brilliant and majestic beyond imagination. I saw palaces made of divine materials not found in this world, glowing with radiant light. I saw gods, Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, Arhats — noble, dignified, infinitely compassionate — their bodies emanating glorious halos. The scene surpassed all human imagination. No words could describe its beauty and sacredness.

(Avery Lin remained silent, eyes wide, no hint of doubt. She could feel the truth in every word Uncle Ma spoke. A deep reverence for the sacred, a rising desire to cultivate diligently welled up within her. Perhaps a gentle nod, a look of understanding and encouragement — that was all she could offer at that moment, not wanting to interrupt the flow of his memories.)

And that’s not all, Avery. As I sat in awe of those divine realms, something else happened. My gaze drifted toward the group of people still meditating… and I suddenly saw threads of destiny connecting them — invisible lines tying their fates together. I saw a female practitioner sitting in the front row — someone I would later learn was very dedicated to guiding newcomers. I suddenly saw a scene from a previous life — that woman had been my wife in a past incarnation. And the man sitting beside her — her current husband — in a past life during the Tang Dynasty, he had been a military officer… and my political rival, the one who had made life extremely difficult for me.

(Uncle Ma paused, his voice tinged with both sorrow and understanding.) I’ve never told those people about this. I’m only sharing it with you to show the miraculous nature of karmic ties — and to illustrate the compassion of Dafa, which dissolves old grievances from past lives, bringing those once entangled by karmic debts back together — so they can cultivate side by side in the same Fa.

All of those scenes — my past lives, those divine realms, those karmic ties with fellow practitioners — they all unfolded in just a brief span of time… yet they completely overturned my view of reality. When the music ended and everyone came out of meditation, I remained seated, stunned — unable to return to myself. A middle-aged woman — that same practitioner I had just seen in a past life — smiled and came over kindly to greet me. She handed me a small booklet — no fancy cover, just plain pages stapled together. She said it was the book that guided their practice. If I was interested, I could take it and read it.

I took it with trembling hands. At that moment, I didn’t even know what the book was called. But later, when I began reading those first lines… then turned page after page — an even greater shock than the opening of my celestial eye shook me to my core. Every sentence, every word — it struck directly into my soul. It answered all the questions and longings I had carried with me through thirty years of searching. It spoke of the universe, of life, of the meaning of being human, of the righteous path of cultivation, of Truthfulness–Compassion–Forbearance… Everything I had ever longed for — it was all there, in that book.

I knew instantly — this was the True Great Law. This was the Master that the old monk in my dream had foretold. This was the goal I had been searching for all those thirty years. I could no longer hold back. Tears streamed down my face. Not tears of sorrow or despair — but tears of joy, of unspeakable gratitude for finally finding my true home.

I cried for the blessing… for the great Master who had compassionately brought this Dafa to the world, to save sentient beings. I cried for the divine arrangement that had guided me — even in the twilight of my life — to find the Fa.

(Uncle Ma lifted a hand and gently wiped the tears still glistening on his cheeks.
His voice was choked with emotion,
but his face radiated a boundless happiness—
a peace that only someone who had truly arrived could ever know.)

Avery Lin:
Yes… after thirty years of drifting across the land, to finally obtain Dafa, to have the celestial eye opened and witness such scenes—both majestic and divine—and even see karmic connections… it must have been deeply soul-stirring.

I once read a story of a similar experience:
A female practitioner came to practice with a group at a public park for the first time.
She joined them during the fifth exercise, the sitting meditation, just like you did, and her celestial eye opened.
She saw heavenly scenes—realms where she was once a high divine being.
She felt as if she had finally found her true home, after countless lifetimes drifting through reincarnation.

She was so moved that tears flowed down her face.
Other practitioners nearby saw her crying and thought she was just in pain from sitting in double-lotus for the first time, so they gently consoled her, saying:
“If your legs hurt too much, you can release them—it’s okay, take your time…”

Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma smiled softly, a smile that radiated deep empathy and understanding.
Tears of joy still shimmered faintly in the corners of his eyes.)

You’re absolutely right.
That kind of inner tremor isn’t just surprise at witnessing something miraculous—
it’s the culmination of a lifetime of seeking.
It’s a moment of complete affirmation that the path you’ve walked for so many years was not in vain.
That the spiritual world is real.
That there exists a Law so grand, so profound, it transcends human cognition.

The story you just shared—I relate to it deeply.
Yes, Avery…
When the celestial eye opens and one sees scenes far beyond anything in this world—
when one catches even a glimpse of their origin or karmic destiny—
the emotion is overwhelming.
Tears flow not from physical pain, but from joy…
from infinite gratitude to Master,
to Dafa, for illuminating the truth.

(Uncle Ma chuckled softly at the innocent misunderstanding in Avery’s story.)

It’s perfectly understandable that other practitioners thought she was crying from leg pain.
For those who haven’t had similar experiences, it’s difficult to imagine the inner realm—
the realities one can perceive when the celestial eye is open.
They can only interpret it through ordinary worldly logic.

Back then, when I couldn’t stop the tears of happiness,
that female practitioner—
the one I saw in my past life as my wife—
she looked a bit puzzled.
She kindly asked if I was alright, perhaps thinking I was just overwhelmed by something new…
or dealing with some internal struggle.

I didn’t quite know how to explain everything I had just seen.
All I could do was stammer a heartfelt “thank you”—
thank you for giving me that precious book.

That book, which I later learned was called Zhuan Falun,
truly turned my entire life around—
my fate, my outlook, my very being.

From a wandering beggar weighed down with sorrow and unanswered questions,
I felt as though I had been reborn.

The three years that followed, from 1996 until mid-1999,
were the most beautiful and peaceful years of my entire life.
I immersed myself in the Fa,
dedicated myself to Fa study, practiced the exercises every day.
My entire worldview was transformed.
I came to understand the true meaning of life—
that we’re not here to compete or indulge in worldly pleasures,
but to cultivate, to return to our original true selves.

The principles of Truthfulness–Compassion–Forbearance were like divine nectar, cleansing my soul.
I measured myself against the Fa,
gradually working to rectify my thoughts and actions—
letting go of the deep attachments that had taken root over decades.
My health also improved in miraculous ways.
Chronic conditions from years of hardship and poor nutrition faded away quietly.
My temperament softened.
I became more patient, more forgiving.

(Uncle Ma gazed out the window, eyes distant, lost in those precious memories.)

The cultivation atmosphere in Beijing back then—
it was so vibrant, so pure, Avery.
Every morning and evening,
parks, plazas, and other public places all across the city were filled with people doing the exercises.
The gentle, compassionate practice music echoed everywhere.
People of all walks of life—government officials, intellectuals, factory workers, the elderly, the young—
everyone practiced together in a spirit of kindness and sincerity.
There was no need for supervision;
everyone was self-motivated,
everyone cherished the rare opportunity to cultivate in Dafa.

Seeing those scenes moved me deeply and strengthened my faith even more.
Those were truly golden years—
a time of rare and precious peace before the great storm began to gather.

(Uncle Ma’s tone fell noticeably as he spoke these last words.
A flicker of worry clouded his expression.)

Avery Lin:
I’ve read accounts about that era too…
At its peak, it’s said that nearly 100 million people were practicing throughout China—
public parks, temple courtyards, community squares, all packed with practitioners.
I’ve never witnessed anything so grand.
Even here in the U.S., it’s rare to find a practice site with more than 30 people…

Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma nodded, eyes gleaming with bittersweet nostalgia.)

You’re absolutely right, Avery. That figure — 100 million — might sound enormous, but based on what I saw with my own eyes in Beijing, it wasn’t an exaggeration. It reflected a genuine reality — an unprecedented wave of moral self-improvement and health cultivation.

Like you said, even in America today, with its freedom of belief, it’s rare to find a practice site with thirty people. But in Beijing back then, sites with several hundred, even a thousand practitioners, were completely normal. I remember large parks like the Temple of Heaven, or Purple Bamboo Park — every morning, before the sun was fully up, waves of people would arrive from all directions. They would unroll small mats, set down cassette players with exercise music, then quietly form rows and begin practicing the five sets of exercises. No chatter, no pushing — just serene music and flowing, beautiful movements. Thousands of people practicing together in a field of pure, compassionate energy… standing amidst them, you felt your soul being cleansed. All your worries would melt away.

And it wasn’t just in parks. Even small courtyards in residential blocks, wide sidewalks, or the temple courtyard where I was staying — you could find people peacefully doing the exercises everywhere. It had become an integral part of daily life for so many in Beijing — and in China as a whole.

But this wasn’t some organized campaign. No one was mobilizing crowds or issuing orders. It was completely voluntary — spreading naturally because of the real, tangible benefits people were experiencing. They saw their health improve. Their illnesses disappeared. Their tempers softened. Families became more harmonious. Good word spread quickly — one person introduced another, and the number of practitioners grew and grew.

It was an extraordinary phenomenon — a manifestation of moral and spiritual elevation in society. People weren’t drawn to Falun Dafa for politics, or for any material gain. They came simply because they wanted to be better people — healthier people — living by the principles of Truthfulness–Compassion–Forbearance.

(Uncle Ma paused. A somber note crept into his voice.) But perhaps it was exactly that — the rapid and righteous growth, the pure hearts and immense spiritual strength — that frightened those filled with jealousy and darkness. Those in the Chinese Communist Party who couldn’t tolerate something they couldn’t control… something they couldn’t buy off with power or profit.

In those peaceful years of cultivation, my celestial eye — which had opened with great force — gradually dimmed around early 1999, right before the persecution began. At first, I was puzzled. But then I realized — it was Master’s arrangement. He didn’t want me relying on abilities. He wanted me to focus on improving my heart, to face the coming trials with righteous thoughts — with firm faith in the Fa.

And indeed, that peace did not last. At that time, we all believed in the goodness of Falun Gong, and trusted the government would uphold justice. No one could have imagined the terrifying storm that was about to sweep in — a brutal campaign that would plunge the country into a long, dark night.

(Uncle Ma’s voice fell to a hush.
The atmosphere in the room grew heavy with unspoken foreboding.)

(…..)

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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