DAY TWO

Avery Lin:
Hello again, Uncle Ma. I’m back…

Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma is seated by the tea table, gazing out the window where slanted rays of afternoon sunlight begin to stretch long across the floor.
At the sound of Avery’s voice, he turns and smiles gently.)

Hello, Avery. Come, have a seat.
I just brewed a fresh pot of tea.

(He gestures for Avery to sit in the chair across from him, then carefully pours a cup of steaming tea. Wisps of fragrance from the mountain leaves curl into the quiet air.)

So today, we pick up where we left off yesterday.
Thirty years of wandering in search of the Way — that really was a long stretch of life, filled with so many ups and downs, wasn’t it?

Like I mentioned yesterday, that journey wasn’t just about braving hunger, sickness, and danger.
There were also moments of wonder — things beyond belief.
Encounters that shook me.
Times when I thought I had found it — only to realize… I was still so far away.

(Uncle Ma sips his tea, his gaze drifting off, clearly returning to the long, colorful road of his past.)

Avery Lin:
Yes, I’m really eager to hear more.
Don’t worry too much about the exact timeline, Uncle — just follow your memories.
Whatever feels most vivid to you, start there.

Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma smiles and nods.)

You’re right. Thirty years is a long time. Some memories are clear as crystal, others just scattered fragments. But I’ll try to recall the ones that truly left a mark — the turning points, the moments that really shaped my path. We may not go strictly in order, but as long as the spirit of the journey stays true, that’s what matters most.

(He sets his teacup down and looks at Avery with encouragement.)

If we’re talking about extraordinary things that strengthened my faith… One of the most powerful moments for me was when I witnessed a Tibetan lama pass into final stillness. That was probably… more than ten years after I’d left home. At the time, I was wandering through a remote part of the Qinghai–Tibetan plateau. The air there was unlike anywhere else — so clean, so still. And the people… deeply devout. One day, I arrived in a tiny village and heard people whispering: A great lama, a truly revered one, was nearing the end of his life. He was going to give one final teaching before his departure. My heart stirred with hope — and curiosity.

I made my way to where the lama was staying. By the time I arrived, the teaching had already finished. The lama — elderly, with a kind and radiant face — was sitting in meditation on a stone platform. He looked utterly peaceful. Calm beyond words. Around him sat a few disciples and villagers, all in complete silence. The atmosphere was… reverent. I quietly found a spot and sat down, hoping for a blessing, or even just a moment of presence.

Suddenly — the lama, who had been meditating with eyes closed — opened his eyes. They were… luminous. Clear and bright in a way I’ve never seen. And he looked straight at me. I was startled. I couldn’t understand why he would single me out. He didn’t speak a word aloud — but I heard it. A voice, gentle and warm, rang clearly in my mind: “The road is still long. Stay steadfast.” I froze. Stunned. Before I could even process what had just happened, the lama smiled softly… and closed his eyes again. Returning to meditation.

My heart was pounding. Shaken… and deeply moved. That simple message — so brief — felt like a surge of energy through my spirit. It cleared away all the exhaustion, all the doubts I’d been carrying. And then, maybe five minutes later… Something incredible happened — something I will never forget. His body, still seated in meditation, began to glow. A radiant light, shimmering with five colors, spread out from him. It grew brighter and brighter… Then slowly — his form began to shrink. Smaller… smaller still… Until only a sphere of rainbow light remained. A glowing orb — brilliant but not blinding. It hovered gently above the platform for a few moments… and then slowly rose into the sky, vanishing into the endless blue.

There was no body left behind. No trace. Everyone around me was stunned into silence. Then, almost in unison, we all dropped to our knees. Heads bowed. I too knelt there — tears streaming down my face. It was the first time in my life I had seen something like that. A true ascension. A departure beyond this world. No more doubts — I knew then: Gods and Buddhas truly exist. There are cultivators who have reached unimaginable realms. And that message — “The road is still long. Stay steadfast.” It struck deep into my heart. That moment became one of the greatest sources of strength for me… In all the years to come — whenever I wavered, whenever I felt too tired to continue — I would remember that rainbow light. And the voice that told me to stay the course.

(Uncle Ma pauses, visibly moved. The tea in his cup has long gone cold.)

Avery Lin:
Wow… that’s such a powerful scene. I’ve read about tòa hóa on the internet before, but this is the first time I’ve heard it told by someone who actually witnessed it…

Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma nods gently, his eyes still carrying the weight of that memory.)

Yes, Avery. There are some things that, when you only read about them or hear others talk, it’s easy to doubt. But once you’ve seen it with your own eyes — experienced it with your own senses — the belief becomes solid. Unshakable.

During my years wandering the Himalayas, I was also fortunate to witness something else… equally extraordinary. I was passing through a remote mountain region in Nepal — a land of endless peaks, drifting white clouds, and incredibly pure air. Before arriving, I’d heard a few rumors — from fellow pilgrims, from locals — about a mysterious “flying monk.” They said sometimes, in those mountains, people caught glimpses of an old monk — no one knew where he came from — who could float through the air from one mountaintop to another, as effortlessly as a drifting leaf. Some said he was a Bodhisattva in disguise. Others believed he was a master who had cultivated for many lifetimes.

I’d heard so many strange tales along the way that I didn’t think too much of it. But then… one late afternoon… I was in a quiet valley, trying to find my way. I happened to glance up toward a high ridge — and there he was. An old monk, slight in build, standing calmly on the edge of a cliff. What struck me was how… weightless he seemed. As if gravity barely applied to him. My heart started racing. Some instinct told me this moment was different.

Then, without warning, he bent his knees — and gently lifted off. He didn’t shoot into the sky, nor did he move quickly. He floated — softly, slowly — drifting across the deep chasm between two peaks. His posture was relaxed, dignified. Like he was just strolling… but through midair. His saffron robes fluttered in the wind — like the wings of a great butterfly. I stood frozen, hardly daring to breathe. The whole thing lasted only a few minutes. He touched down on the other ridge… then calmly disappeared into the trees.

It was only once he was gone that I could move again. Inside, I felt a mixture of awe… and gratitude. I knew what I’d seen was real — a true gongneng, a supernatural ability, something that only those who had reached a very high state of cultivation could achieve. All those rumors I’d heard before? They were no longer “stories.”

I didn’t try to follow him. Didn’t dare disturb him. I knew — this was a gift. A rare blessing. Meant only for me to witness — to strengthen my resolve. He came and went like a legend… leaving no trace behind. Encounters like that… they didn’t point me to a specific practice. But they did something just as important. They confirmed for me that what the ancient texts said about divine powers, about transcendence — it wasn’t fantasy. It was real. That vision made the goal I was seeking — the True Law — feel real, too. Tangible. No longer some vague ideal. It gave me strength to keep walking… even though the road ahead remained long and steep.

(Uncle Ma lets out a soft sigh, then turns to Avery with a gentle smile.)

These were blessings, Avery. But they were rare. Most of the time… I had to face the bare, raw struggle of the mundane world — and the bitter sting of rejection.

Avery Lin:
Yes… for us cultivators, the idea of someone flying isn’t that surprising.
But for those who haven’t stepped onto the path yet —
even if they witness it with their own eyes, they’ll probably still think it’s an illusion, or some kind of magic trick…

Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma nods, his expression full of understanding.)

You’re absolutely right. To the average person… it’s almost impossible to believe. They’ll think it’s a hallucination, or a hoax — or maybe some clever stage trick. Because these things are beyond the framework of modern science. Beyond the physical laws they’ve been taught. But for someone who has already stepped onto the cultivation path — even if they’ve only had a tiny glimpse of the spiritual world, a hint of how energy and consciousness truly operate — then such things… they don’t seem so far-fetched anymore.

We understand that this universe holds countless mysteries. That there are laws higher than what the human mind can currently grasp. That’s why these encounters — even if they didn’t hand me a specific method or teaching — were still like torches in the dark. They kept the flame of seeking alive inside me. They reminded me that what I was looking for was real. And worth every sacrifice. Every ounce of patience.

But, like I said, it wasn’t always about miracles. Most of my journey to find a teacher… was filled with disappointment. I visited countless temples, countless Taoist sanctuaries. Whenever I heard of a great monk or sage — someone with true virtue — I’d go. Wholeheartedly. Begging to be taken in as a disciple. Some of them — after hearing my story — would just look at me quietly… then gently say: “Your fate is not with this place, Shi Changxing. Your path is wider, farther than what we can offer you here.” Others would say: “I can sense your sincerity… but I don’t have the virtue to guide someone like you. Your true teacher is still ahead of you. Keep walking. Don’t stop.” And then there were those who, after I bowed and poured out my heart — would remain silent for a long time. Then simply say: “Keep going. When your heart is still enough — when your fate is ripe — you will hear the call. And you’ll know what to do.”

At first… those gentle refusals hurt. I felt lost. Like I was wandering endlessly. Searching for a shelter I couldn’t find. But later… I understood. Those rejections… they were actually full of compassion. And subtle guidance. They didn’t turn me away because I lacked sincerity. But because the time wasn’t right. Or because their paths weren’t the one I was meant to follow. Those quiet, enigmatic words — they only strengthened my belief… That somewhere out there — the True Master, the Great Law the high monk once spoke of — was still waiting. And my task… was to keep going. To keep refining myself — until fate brought us together.

That feeling — of disappointment and faint hope intertwining — it followed me for years. It was one of my greatest tests. To remain steadfast. To not give up. Because without an unshakable will — without that deep faith in my original vow — I would’ve abandoned this path long ago.

(Uncle Ma pauses, pouring more tea into both cups.
His gaze is distant, fixed on the wisps of steam curling from the surface —
as if seeing again the faces, the roads, the long search that filled those thirty years.)

Avery Lin:
In those moments when you were turned away… do you still remember any of them in more detail?

Did you ever ask for another chance — like, even if they couldn’t accept you as a disciple, did you ever say,
“Could I at least stay for a while, listen to your teachings, and help around the temple?”

Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma nods slowly, as if the memories are returning with vivid clarity — as if they happened just yesterday.)

Yes, of course. Those rejections… they left deep marks. Because each one came after a spark of hope — followed by disappointment. And you’re right — I didn’t always walk away immediately. With such a strong yearning to learn the Way, I often tried to plead.

I remember one time… I had traveled to a famous mountain in Hunan Province. Rumors said there was a hermit Taoist there — a master with great cultivation. After days of searching, I finally found him in a tiny thatched hut, hidden deep in a bamboo forest. He was already over seventy, but his presence was powerful. Eyes like stars. I bowed deeply and told him everything — my journey, my intentions. I begged to become his disciple. He simply stared at me — for a long, long time. His eyes… seemed to look straight through me.

Finally, he said slowly: “I can see your heart. But the bond between us as master and disciple… it’s not there. The path you’re meant to walk is not here.” My heart sank. But I wasn’t ready to give up. I begged: “If I’m not fated to be your disciple, please, Master… let me stay for a while. I’ll do chores, serve quietly — I only ask to listen, to hear a few of your teachings each day. I don’t ask for more than that.” The Taoist master remained calm. He shook his head and said: “I have little to teach you. What you need to learn… you must discover for yourself, through your own journey, through your own realization. If you stay here, you might only slow yourself down.” Then he added, with a deeper tone: “Water must flow to be clear. Fire must burn to shine. Keep going. Don’t fear the hardship.”

I knew then… I couldn’t press him further. As disappointed as I was… I could still feel the compassion in his words. He didn’t want me to settle. He knew I had to keep walking. That my path had been set another way. So I bowed in gratitude… and left, with a heavy heart… and one more question in my chest: “Then where is my true destination?”

Another time — I went to a famous temple on Mount Emei, in Sichuan. It’s one of the Four Sacred Buddhist Mountains in China — a place of beauty and legend. I met the abbot — a noble monk, strict in discipline, with an air of great virtue. Again, I begged to be accepted, to stay and cultivate. He listened patiently. Then said: “I see potential in you. A sincere heart. But this temple, with its rituals and sutras — this is not where you’ll find what you’re truly looking for. The Dharma you seek… is not in these scriptures. Not in the morning bells or evening chants.”

I offered to do manual work — anything — just to be close to the Triple Gem, to absorb even a little Dharma. But he waved his hand and said: “Your path is like the wind — you must travel far, see the vast sky and sea. Staying here would be like a bird in a cage — well fed, well cared for… but unable to soar. Your karma must be resolved through real-life trials — not through peaceful chanting in seclusion.” Then he added: “Your true master… he holds a Law of incredible power — one that can truly liberate you. Keep seeking. When the time comes, you’ll find him.”

Those rejections… they never gave me a specific answer. But they felt almost prophetic. Like veiled encouragements. They didn’t crush my hope. They made me believe even more — that maybe this long journey… was preparing me for something greater. So when the true master, the Great Law, finally came… I would be ready. Worthy. Grateful.

Each time I was turned away, I reminded myself — it’s just another test. Just one more step.

(Uncle Ma pauses, gently rubbing his forehead.
Though these memories speak of disappointment…
they now carry a deeper understanding —
the quiet clarity of someone who has seen the meaning in what once seemed like failure.)

Avery Lin:
So… in all those long years of seeking…
did you ever meet anyone who was like you?
Someone also searching — also walking the path?

Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma nods, a faint smile forming — the kind that comes from shared experience.)

Oh yes, Avery. Many, in fact. The road was mostly lonely — but there were moments of grace, when I met fellow travelers… People with the same longing. The same quiet ache to find the Way. They came from everywhere — all walks of life. Some were scholars who had abandoned their books. Some were humble farmers. Some were former officials who had given up everything.

Each had their own style. Some buried themselves in scriptures, trying to extract truth from the words. Others focused on strict meditation, training their bodies and minds. And some — like me — just wandered from temple to temple, hoping… hoping to meet a true teacher.

I remember once — while in Sichuan, making my way toward Tibet — I met a man whose face was weathered… but whose eyes were clear as crystal. He was practicing a form of extreme devotion. He would walk three steps — then drop to the ground, forehead pressed to the earth, prostrating himself completely. Then rise — walk three more steps — and do it again. Step. Bow. Step. Bow. He had come all the way from Hubei Province like that. Through towns and mountains. For weeks.

One midday, we both stopped to rest beneath a tree. We talked. His voice was calm. His conviction — unshakable. He believed that only by pouring out his entire being, by enduring such hardship, could he cleanse his karma — could he move the hearts of the divine — and be accepted as a disciple in a Tibetan monastery. I was deeply moved. At that time, I myself felt lost — unsure of my next step. Seeing his sincerity… I thought, Maybe I should try it too. Maybe that’s the way to show devotion. To burn away karma.

So I tried. For one stretch of road — step… bow… step… bow… But oh, it was brutal. After just a short distance, my entire body ached. I was exhausted. And I realized — his willpower was on a whole different level.

Eventually, after much hardship, we both arrived at a great monastery in Tibet. He — with his discipline and devotion — was accepted. He wept with joy. And I… I bowed and made my request to stay and learn. The lama looked at me for a long time. Then said, slowly: “Your heart is sincere — but your karma is still heavy. Your path is not here. You must keep walking — keep experiencing. Only then will your true teacher appear.”

His words hit me hard. I had tried so much. I had suffered too. So why wasn’t I accepted? Watching my friend stay behind… while I kept drifting… It was a pain hard to describe. But then I remembered — what the high monk had said in my dream. That this journey would be long. Full of trials. Meant to cleanse me. To test me. So even though I was sad — the rejection only deepened my belief: Maybe my fate was different. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to stop yet. Not until I was ready. Truly ready.

(Uncle Ma pauses again, letting the feeling settle.) Encounters like that… even if brief — they were powerful. They reminded me: I wasn’t alone. That many others were also walking, also seeking. We shared what little knowledge we had. Sometimes… we just sat in silence, looking to the horizon — each of us hoping, in our own way, to find the answer waiting beyond the mountains.

Of course, such bonds never lasted long. Everyone had their own path. Their own destiny. We’d meet for a while — then part ways. Like little boats drifting together on a vast sea — then carried off in different currents. But I never forgot them. Their faces. Their hearts. Their longing for the Way. They live on in me — even now.

Avery Lin:
I’ve heard about that “three steps, one bow” practice too.
I even saw a video of someone doing it on YouTube once.
I haven’t witnessed it in person…
but even through a screen, I could feel their sincerity.

Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma nods, his gaze distant again.)

Yes, that’s right. Nowadays, with the internet, you young people can see videos and images of such practitioners. But back in my time, there was almost no information. To witness that level of devotion with your own eyes — to see that kind of willpower — it leaves a deep impact. It makes you realize just how far sincere faith and reverence can push a person — beyond the limits you thought were possible.

(He pauses for a moment, then continues with a slightly lower tone, as if opening a more reflective part of the story.) Those chance encounters I told you about — those moments of meeting fellow seekers — they were like small bursts of light. Moments of strength. Energy refueling a long journey. But most of the time… as I’ve said — it was solitude. Just me. Fighting through hardship. And most importantly — learning. Contemplating. By myself.

I never had a fixed teacher to follow in any formal way. My learning came from many places. My grandfather’s Dao De Jing was always with me. That book was my closest companion. Every time I went through a crisis… or witnessed something that shook me… I would open it again. And somehow, a passage I had read before — suddenly revealed a deeper meaning.

Then there were the occasional teachings I overheard from monks and Taoists I met along the road. Each had their own practice, their own interpretation. But sometimes… just one line from them — could open a door in my mind. I remembered everything. I pondered it all on my own. And tried to connect the dots myself.

Even among ordinary folks — farmers, laborers, craftsmen — sometimes in their stories… I found wisdom. Lessons in patience. In compassion. Truth doesn’t always come dressed in profound words. Often, it hides in simplicity. In the rawness of real life.

And nature too, Avery. The mountains. The rivers. The forests. Even a single blade of grass, a wildflower by the roadside — they all became silent teachers. Watching how the earth breathes, how things are born, grow, fade, then return — I began to sense the rhythm of impermanence. The harmony of the cosmos.

But perhaps… the greatest teacher of all was suffering itself. Hunger. Cold. Illness. Loneliness. They shaped my will. They polished the rough edges of my heart. They made me confront my attachments — my fears — my desires. And slowly… helped me let go. Every hardship I overcame… left me lighter. Clearer.

(Uncle Ma looks at Avery, his eyes full of quiet sincerity.) This path of self-learning, self-realization… it’s difficult. There’s no one to guide you step by step. But maybe… maybe that was the arrangement all along. Because when you stumble through the dark on your own… when you fall, get back up, and figure things out through direct experience — what you learn becomes part of you. Not borrowed knowledge. But something earned. Something real.

Avery Lin:
Yes… I can feel that, just from hearing your stories.
But for young people like us, most of what we learn still comes from books.
We haven’t really experienced anything that deep yet…

So during those years of searching for the Way —
besides Buddhist and Taoist traditions,
did you ever come across other practices?
Like those “unusual disciplines” that Master talks about in Zhuan Falun?

Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma smiles faintly — a subtle smile, layered with meaning.)

You’re asking about “unorthodox cultivation ways”? Yes… in those thirty years of wandering, I didn’t just visit orthodox temples and Taoist sanctuaries. With such burning desire to find the True Law, I explored many paths. Many teachings. Some of them… strange. Mysterious. Little-known by the world.

(His voice drops a little, his eyes taking on a more cautious light.) There was a time… I almost lost my way. It was a painful lesson — one that taught me how dangerous spiritual practice can be without true guidance — without a proper understanding of what is righteous and what is not.

It happened around twenty years into my journey. By then, I had seen and heard many strange things. Someone told me about a “master” living in a remote southern mountain — a man said to have great power, who could unlock supernatural abilities quickly. They said he could help people “open up” to other realms, gain special powers.

I was eager. Impatient. Hoping for a shortcut. So I went. This “master” was indeed charismatic — well-spoken, used lofty language full of cosmic terms and mystery. He spoke of the universe, of energy, of realms beyond human comprehension.

At first, when I practiced his breathing techniques and strange movements, I felt something. Tingling. Sensations in my body. I thought, maybe this is it. Maybe I had found the real thing. But as time went on… I noticed something off. His words — though sophisticated — lacked compassion. Lacked righteousness. He focused on gaining power. On control. On receiving benefits. He never spoke of kindness, or letting go of ego, or cultivating one’s heart. His demands grew strange. Even exploitative.

Eventually, one day while meditating under his system, trying to “unlock” what he described… I was suddenly surrounded by horrifying visions. Not radiant deities. Not heavenly light. But blackness. A cold, oppressive atmosphere. And in that darkness — twisted, grotesque beings. From low realms. Demons, spirits — fighting, screaming, fierce and terrifying.

I was paralyzed with fear. My whole body shook. A dread filled my chest. I forced myself out of the state — heart pounding, soaked in sweat. And I realized… I had gone down the wrong road. That path — though it appeared mystical — was steeped in darkness. It wasn’t Righteous Law. It was dangerous.

If I had stayed… I might have lost myself. Or become possessed by those lowly forces. The very next morning, I left. No farewells. Just gone. Frightened. Ashamed. Ashamed of my foolishness. Of my lack of discernment.

After that… I became far more careful. I realized — cultivation is no game. You can’t just be impressed by fancy words, or exotic techniques. You must feel with your heart. Compare everything to the core principles of kindness, compassion, and virtue. If a practice violates those — no matter how “impressive” it looks — it can’t be righteous.

That misstep — as painful as it was — became a treasured lesson. It sharpened my discernment. It made me alert. Grounded. And it only deepened my longing — to find a true Master, to find a genuine Great Law.

(Uncle Ma exhales slowly, as if letting go of an old weight —
one that has long since become wisdom.)

Avery Lin:
Listening to your story, I suddenly recall a saying in Buddhism: “Rare is it to be born human, rare to be born in the Central Land, and rarer still to hear the True Law…”

Ma Changsheng:
(Uncle Ma nodded gently, his face contemplative, deeply resonating with the words.)

Yes, Avery. “To obtain a human body is hard; to be born in the Central Land is harder; to hear the True Law is hardest of all; and to meet a true Master is even more rare.” The Buddha’s words are absolutely true. Every single one of those things is incredibly precious and difficult to attain.

This human life we have—it may seem easy, but according to the scriptures, to be reborn as a human being, with all the faculties needed to learn and cultivate, requires the convergence of immeasurable karma and destiny.

And then, to be born in the “Central Land”—the place where divine culture was passed down, where saints and sages descended to leave behind scriptures and cultivation paths—is an even greater blessing.

But to not only obtain a human body and be born into a land with spiritual culture, but to actually hear the True Law, to encounter a genuine Master—now that is beyond rare. It’s like searching for a needle in the bottom of the sea.

That experience I had, nearly being led astray by an evil path, was a searing lesson in what it means to say “to hear the True Law is hardest of all.” On the surface, these deviant teachings may cloak themselves in noble words, lofty-sounding principles. They may even offer some superficial sensations to lure people in. Without clear discernment, without a sincere heart seeking the Way, it’s all too easy to be seduced and led down the wrong road without even knowing it.

Over the thirty years I spent seeking, I encountered countless people calling themselves “masters,” “spiritual guides.” Some truly had some skill, some insight—but their methods were either not aligned with the True Law, or were simply not suited to my nature or destiny. Others were outright frauds, exploiting people’s faith for their own gain. To discern truth from falsehood, righteousness from evil—it’s no small feat, especially for a lone seeker like myself without anyone to guide me.

And that’s precisely why, later on, when I was fortunate enough to encounter the True Great Law, I cherished it with all my heart. It was not something easily gained. It was the fruit of a long journey, forged in sweat, tears, even blood. It was the infinite compassion of Heaven that did not abandon a sinner who truly wished to turn back.

That brush with a false path, dangerous as it was, became like a kind of spiritual vaccine—it sharpened my defenses, made me more discerning. It strengthened my longing for the True Law, and made my resolve even more unshakable. Even if I stumbled, even if I grew weary, the fire in my heart to seek never went out.

(Uncle Ma looked at Avery, his eyes steady with the weight of lived experience and unshakable faith.)

So when young people like yourself have the fortune to encounter the True Law, to be guided by a true Master—cherish it. It’s an immense blessing, one that not everyone receives. Don’t let temporary hardships or worldly temptations shake your will. The path of true cultivation may not be paved with roses, but it is the only road that leads us home.

(…..)

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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