28

The Master of Golden Light Cave Recalls the Past

The Venerable Elder of Jade Void Cave Is Enlightened about His Previous Life

AS one poem goes,

Someone who just came back from the sea

Saw a temple on a hill amid the water.

A celestial boy opened one of the doors

And said that the room awaited Letian.1

Another poem says,

I seek the path to nirvana, not to the Dao;

Your report, I fear, is far off the mark.

That hill on the sea is not where I belong;

When my time comes, to Tusita Heaven I go.2

The above two quatrains were written by Assistant Secretary Bai Juyi, also known as Hermit of Fragrant Hill, of the Tang dynasty, in response to Mr. Li Shiji, Surveillance Commissioner of the Eastern Circuit of Zhejiang. Bai Juyi devoted his whole life to exhaustive studies of the Buddhist classics. In his assiduous application of the teachings of Mahayana, he set his heart on transcending the wheel of life and death and making it to the Pure Land. Now, during one of Commissioner Li Shiji’s inspection tours of the Eastern Circuit of Zhejiang, a traveling merchant of Mingzhou, which was under Mr. Li’s jurisdiction, went to sea with a group of seafarers. Set adrift by strong winds, their boat went none knew whither. More than a month later, they found themselves at the foot of a tall mountain topped by auspicious clouds and covered with exotic flowers and trees with white cranes roaming among them. It was a sight never seen in the mortal world.

A man emerged from a bend in the mountain path and, walking up to the boat to greet the travelers, asked, “Who might you be, pray?”

The merchant and his fellow passengers all replied that they had been blown there by the wind. The man said, “Now that you’re already here, you may moor your boat and come ashore to see the Heavenly Preceptor.”

All the passengers except the merchant were so timid that they shrank back, not knowing what would happen if they went ashore. The merchant was the only one who followed the man ashore. (MC: Unlike him, the others lack a bond with Buddhism.) The man took him to a place that looked no different from a grand temple. Our merchant followed the man in and saw a Daoist priest with white eyebrows and a white beard sitting in the main hall and flanked by tens of attendants on either side.

The priest addressed the merchant in these words, “You came here from the Middle Kingdom because you have a predestined bond with this place, which is none other than what you mortals call “Penglai Island.”3 Since you’re already here, would you like to tour the place?”

When the merchant said yes, the priest told his attendants to guide him on a tour of the temple. The jade terraces and emerald-green trees dazzled the eye in their splendor. There were tens of compounds, each with its own name. One of the compounds, unlike the others, was tightly bolted. Peeking through the chink between the double panels of the gate, the merchant saw that the entire courtyard was covered with exotic flowers. In the main hall stood an unoccupied couch with a cushion on it. From the foot of the dais arose wisps of incense whose fragrance assailed the nostrils.

“What kind of place is this?” asked the merchant. “Why lock up an unoccupied compound?”

The man replied, “This was the home of Bai Letian in his previous existence. He’s now in the Middle Kingdom, which is why this compound is under lock and key.”

Knowing that “Letian” was the courtesy name of Secretary Bai, the merchant made a mental note of everything he saw in the temple. After bidding the man farewell, he went back to his boat. With a favorable wind, the boat set sail and, before ten days had passed, arrived at the shore of the Eastern Circuit of Zhejiang.

The merchant presented a detailed report about what he had witnessed to Commissioner Li, who recorded his words and wrote a letter to Mr. Bai, providing him with the information. (MC: How do we know that Commissioner Li did not fabricate the details in order to cultivate Secretary Bai’s favor?) After reading the letter through, Mr. Bai said with a laugh, “This longtime Buddhist has only the western heavens of Amitabha in mind. Far be it from me to go to some hill in the middle of a sea to live the life of an immortal!” So he wrote the two quatrains quoted above as a reply to Mr. Li, to make it clear that, as a Mahayana Buddhist, he longed to go to Tusita Heaven and did not care for Penglai Island.

In later times, it was said that Mr. Bai, by freeing himself from the conventions of this mundane world and abandoning his high office, showed himself to be nothing short of an immortal banished from the exalted realm and that the report about his place on the sea was no fabrication. Be that as it may, he did, in his lifetime, apply himself diligently to his studies and his spiritual development until he rose above the teachings of Daoism and reached the heights of the world of Buddhism. That these achievements surpassed those he had attained in his previous existence is an irrefutable fact. You see, all eminent personalities and potentates throughout history had, without exception, karmic dispositions from their previous lives. They have been either immortals banished to the mundane world or reincarnations of venerable Buddhist priests, which is why, in their wisdom and moral integrity, they were able to accomplish countless good deeds.

For example, Dongfang Shuo was the embodiment of a heavenly star;4 Ma Zhou had been an immortal official at the Suling Palace on Mount Hua;5 Wang Fangping had been a monk at the Langya Monastery;6 Zhen Dexiu, sobriquet West Hill [Xishan], had been Monk of the Thatched Hut;7 and Su Shi had been Abbot Wujie.8 After their deaths, they either returned to their places of origin or became immortals. For example, Bu Zixia was made the god of the civil arts,9 Guo Pu became the god of water,10 Tao Hongjing became the celestial director of the waterways,11, and Li He was summoned by the Lord on High to compose an ode to the White Jade Tower.12 These and numerous similar, verifiable cases are all recorded in the annals of history.

As for evil ministers and rebels, they certainly do not come from good roots but are invariably reincarnations of rakshas, rakshasas, and Asura demon kings. As stories have it, when Li Linfu met a Daoist priest and Lu Qi encountered a fairy maiden, both men were told that they had the makings of immortals and had therefore been selected for redemption, but both preferred to be prime ministers rather than immortals and thus fell into disgrace.13 However, this is a fiction invented by their disciples, former colleagues, and members of their cliques in order to cover up their evil deeds. (MC: Good argument. Enough to prove the fallacy of these stories.) According to their logic, those two would still have been immortals, but with a delay of five hundred or six hundred years. If so, why is there the saying “Li Linfu was condemned to ten lifetimes as an ox and nine lifetimes as an entertainer”? Even if he had paid fully for all his crimes and regained his true self, nothing should have been heard about him after five or six hundred years. And yet, in the Wanli reign period of this dynasty [Ming], when a prostitute was killed by a thunderbolt in a certain county in Henan, these five characters appeared on her back: “Li Linfu of Tang.” Why? That happened six hundred years after his death. Clearly, claims that such villains were reincarnations of immortals are absurd and are not worthy of belief.

The reason this humble storyteller brings up Bai Juyi is to make the point that people with good roots should not be so enamored of the mortal world, with all its pitfalls of desire and greed, that they forget their true selves. (MC: Well-meaning advice.) I now propose to tell a story about a minister of the Song dynasty who, in this mortal world, managed to see his own true self. Lend me your ears! As the poem says,

He used to be a palace official;

He is now in the Pure Land of the West.

Sitting by the water’s edge, willow twig in hand,

He muses on past events and his previous life.

The story tells that among the several caves by the Double Maha Ponds of the West were Golden Light Cave and Jade Void Cave. Now, each cave had a venerable elder serving as the cave master. Living in the land of ultimate bliss, they cultivated their spirits in order to attain the Bodhi state of enlightenment. One day, the master of Jade Void Cave went to see the master of Golden Light Cave and said to him, “The guiding principle of Buddhism is the delivery of all living creatures from worldly suffering. By quietly cultivating our spirits in the caves, we do reap the fruits of enlightenment, but that’s only the self-centered Hinayana approach. I’d like to go to the Middle Kingdom and stay for about seventy to eighty years—the duration of a lifetime. After I do things that help the people and benefit the world, I’ll come back here. Isn’t that a good idea?”

The master of Golden Light Cave replied, “What’s so good about getting involved in the defilements of the mortal world? Yes, you may be able to help the people and benefit the world, but I’d hate to see you get carried away by desires. If there’s no one to guide you back, you may forget your true nature and become subject to the wheel of transmigration. If so, who knows how many kalpas it will take before you reattain enlightenment? And you talked about coming back here as if it’s the easiest thing in the world!” On hearing these words, the master of Jade Void Cave was struck with remorse.

The master of Golden Light Cave continued, “But since this idea did cross your mind, Skanda, protector of the Buddha dharma, should already have reported it to the Buddha. You can’t retract it now. You might as well go ahead with your trip, to enjoy the wealth and glamour that the mortal world has to offer and, in the meantime, accomplish some good deeds. But be sure not to lose your true nature. In the event it gets washed away in the mortal world and you fail to call it to mind, I’ll come in about fifty years to give you a pointer or two and wait for your complete awakening.”

Then and there, the master of Jade Void Cave bade farewell to the master of Golden Light Cave, returned to his own cave, and told his disciple, “Keep a good watch over the cave and remember to burn incense and intone the sutras every morning and evening, as before. (MC: The acolyte does do his bidding, as will be revealed later.) I’m off to the mortal world on a little trip.”

On the strength of his innate wisdom, he went to pick the destination of his reincarnation and settled on a couple who were devout Buddhist believers. They were of virtuous conduct and were also richly blessed by fate.

Let us now turn to a gentleman named Feng Shi in Jiangxia of Ezhou [present-day Wuchang, Hubei] of the Song dynasty. A palace guard by profession, he was much given to charitable works. One day, his pregnant wife saw in her dream a golden arhat from heaven and soon thereafter gave birth to a son amid an extraordinary fragrance that filled the room. The boy had a lofty forehead, a square jaw, and large earlobes—all quite uncommon physiognomic features in a baby. Showing extraordinary intellectual prowess at two or three years of age, he was able to read the characters in the sutras, as if he had learned them before, and never forgot them once he had seen them. Upon enrollment in school, he was given the name Feng Jing, courtesy name Dangshi. When reading, he was able to recall the lines after a single glance, and he could dash off ten-thousand-word essays as fast as his writing brush could go. In addition to reading Confucian books, he also had a passion for the Buddhist classics and great respect for the teachings of Buddhism. Every so often, he sat in meditation with eyes closed, in the manner of adult Buddhists. Before he was twenty years old, he won first place at all three levels of the imperial civil-service examinations.

Storyteller! You’ve got it wrong! According to the play First Honors on All Three Levels of the Exams, his father, Feng Shang, was a traveling merchant, but you made him out to be an official and changed his name.14

Well, gentle reader, mark this: Playscripts are nothing but fiction. How can you give full credence to them? (MC: This is an opportunity to dwell on the lack of truth in works of drama.) For example, of all plays in both the northern and southern traditions, the best ones, by general acknowledgment, are The Story of the Lute and The West Chamber.15

As for the first story, the facts are as follows: The real Cai Yong [133–192] of the Han dynasty lost his parents before he became an official. He stayed in a hut by their graves when observing the mourning period, and the local government, in recognition of his filial devotion and personal integrity, recommended him to the court for an official post. But the play falsely claims that he held on to his official post in the capital while his parents died of starvation. What’s more, there were no zhuangyuan-degree holders in the Han dynasty, and with Dong Zhuo [d. 192] monopolizing power at the time, there was no Grand Councilor Niu.

As for the second story, Zheng Heng was a high-ranking official of the Tang dynasty. His wife, Cui-shi [Cui Yingying], was also a titled lady. When did she ever lose her chastity to Student Zhang? In later times, it became known to some that Yuan Zhen had written the original tale in order to sully Madam Cui because his attempts to seduce her had failed. In the play, however, Cui Yingying and Student Zhang become husband and wife, and Zheng Heng, little more than a playboy whose father is a high-ranking official, dashes his head against a flight of steps and dies. Didn’t the playwright turn the truth on its head? And without any justification, too!

When even these two admirable plays lapse into such preposterous falsehood, can you give any credit to other pieces of drama? (MC: I’m afraid fiction should not be given credit either. It is better not to read at all than to believe all one reads.) This is why, when I come to the story about Feng Jing, I must first state his father’s name according to official history, so that the reader will not always rely on what is in plays and perpetuate mistakes.

Let me digress no more but resume our story. After winning first place at all three levels of the civil service examinations, Mr. Feng was assigned one important post after another and rose through the ranks. Everywhere he went, he initiated good practices and eliminated harmful ones, practiced good governance, and fostered Buddhism, and the list can go on and on. Later, he was promoted to a metropolitan post and became prime minister.

One day, he felt ill disposed and took leave from his official duties to rest at home in peace and quiet and regain his health. At the time, he was very much in Emperor Yingzong’s good graces, and so the emperor dispatched to his house a never-ending stream of eunuchs to inquire after his condition as well as a team of renowned physicians from the imperial academy to give him treatments. The emperor’s instructions for them were to do their best in dispensing the right medicine and to effect a cure without fail. After taking the prescribed medicine for about ten days, Prime Minister Feng recovered, but he had lost much weight and could not walk without a cane. Having just recovered from a protracted illness, he remained frail and was easily startled. Fancy clothes did not interest him, and music got on his nerves. (MC: Evidence of his karmic disposition.) Wishing only to sit quietly in meditation, he slowly walked to his backyard, cane in hand. There, in the depths of the flowers and trees, stood a thatched cottage called “Knee-Room Hut.” The name was inspired by a line from Tao Yuanming’s prose poem “The Return,” meaning the cottage had just enough room to accommodate two knees.16 His good humor returning, he dismissed the women attendants, lit some ambergris incense in a mountain-shaped incense burner, sat down cross-legged on the prayer cushion of the meditation couch, and closed his eyes.

After sitting in silent meditation for some time, he felt refreshed, and his limbs began to regain strength. Slowly, he opened his eyes, only to see a black-robed little boy with unearthly refined looks and a graceful manner standing respectfully to the right of the couch.

“I’ve dismissed all my servants,” said Prime Minister Feng to the boy. “Who are you? Why are you standing here all alone?”

“Having just recovered from a long illness, you, sir, may want to go on a little tour in the lightness of your heart. I’m here to serve as your attendant, and I don’t dare leave you without orders to do so.”

Having been bedridden for quite some time, Mr. Feng was indeed thinking of taking a little tour now that he had recovered from his illness. Delighted by the little boy’s words, he rose from his couch in the excitement of the moment and felt as brisk as he had been before his illness.

Once outside the cottage, the little boy said, “The roads are a little rough. Please be careful. And now, please mount my goat-carriage for a tour around the gardens.”

Pleased by the little boy’s quickness, Mr. Feng said affably, “All right, all right.”

In a trice, the little boy brought a goat-carriage to him. It had

A speckled bamboo curtain,

Wheels with sandalwood spokes,

Silk ribbons tied in knots,

Coiling rails with carved jade,

A cushion and a brocade mattress,

And blue felt covering the top.

Without asking where the carriage had come from, Prime Minister Feng readily mounted it. Wielding a whip, the little boy drove the carriage ahead as it went with the speed of the wind. Mr. Feng wondered to himself, “How can goats go so fast?” Bending forward, he saw that, in fact, the animals pulling the carriage bore no resemblance to goats, nor were they oxen or horses. He leaned against the handrail for a better view and found that he could barely distinguish the animals’ backs from their tails, but he was dazzled by the multicolored light emanating from their heads, tails, and feet. Marveling at the way the animals were galloping so fast yet still kept the carriage as steady as if it were resting on a huge rock, he wanted to ask the little boy about it, but before he could do so, they had already passed through the northern gate of the capital and were rising gradually into the azure sky. Soon they were in the midst of clouds, high above the mortal world. They passed quite a few towns, and after about as long as it would take to eat a meal, the carriage came to a stop on solid ground. The little boy stepped up to him and said, “Sir, please come down and see the scenic splendors of this place.”

Mr. Feng dismounted, only to realize that the little boy and the goat-carriage had vanished. Raising his head and looking all around, he saw that he was in the midst of mountains. (MC: What a joy!) Behold:

The hills and the rivers are delightful;

The foliage on the hills is enchanting.

The mist over the valleys comes and goes;

The flowers and trees on the peaks flourish.

In the sweet stillness, brooks babble over the rocks;

Chasing one another, the clouds circle the peaks.

The grass is richly green by the deep streams;

The ancient rocks are dotted with green moss.

Being an official at the imperial court occupied with affairs of the mundane world, Prime Minister Feng was as delighted by these sights as a traveler on the road at the height of summer when he comes upon a hundred clear streamlets. (MC: Poor thing! Take warning!) Feeling cleansed of all ailments, he rubbed his belly and said to himself ruefully, “How I wish I could put on a farmer’s cape and conical hat, pick up a hoe, walk an ox, till a few mu of land, and live out the rest of my life here. After each autumn harvest, when the farmwork is done, I’ll cook a chicken and brew some wine, serve them in a clay pot and a porcelain jar, share them with a neighboring old man, and make conversation about the weather. (MC: A nice description of an idyllic scene.) The joys of such a life may sound trivial, but I think they’re superior to what the jade and golden seals of office can offer. My only regret is that, not having done my duty by the emperor, I can hardly ask for retirement. But someday, I’ll fulfill my wish.”

He was about to take a stroll and feast his eyes on the scenery when the crisp note of a chime came to his ears from the depths of the woods. He raised his eyes and saw faintly visible upturned eaves, green tiles, rafters, and windows in the shadows of the distant pine trees and bamboo groves. He thought, “The sound of a chime that I just heard must have come from there. It must be the residence of a hermit. Why don’t I go pay him a visit?”

Parting the clouds, he picked his way through the rocks, braving the perils along the path. As he went along, he heard the gurgling of water and the soughing of the pines under his feet. Gradually, the woods parted before him, and the ridges and peaks merged. He came to a spot where leisurely clouds hovered over a deep stream with wind-caressed ripples, and thousands of gates stood along the water’s edge. There was

An imposing palace embowered in

Coiling pine branches, green tiles, and vermilion gates,

A winding veranda with phoenix bamboos

And carved jade railings.

The towers that pierced the sky were so exquisite that they could not have been the work of human hands. By the open gate that led to a cave hung a white jade placard that bore the inscription, in gold, “First Golden Light Cave.” Surmising that this was no residence for humans, Mr. Feng dared not enter the cave rashly. Exhausted after the long walk, he sat down on the stone threshold for a rest.

Before he had made himself comfortable, there arose from within the cave a blast of sound loud enough to shake the sky and the earth and topple mountains. As soon as the deafening sound subsided, a strong wind sprang up, bending the pine trees and bamboo and sending bricks and stones flying through the air. But then the blustering wind stopped almost as suddenly as it had arisen. Aghast, Mr. Feng quickly looked back and saw a huge beast charging out through the gate of the cave. What did it look like?

With glowing eyes and multicolored fur,

It whipped up a wind through the vales with its tail,

And grass cowered as it crossed the garden.

Whenever it gave a roar in the hills,

A hundred beasts hid themselves in fear.

Whenever it prowled alone in the woods,

It inspired shivers of awe in all furry beings.

Its teeth were a row of swords and halberds;

Its four hooves and claws were as sharp as knives.

As it ran toward him with the speed of the wind, Prime Minister Feng panicked, but there was no time to dodge. (MC: This shock is quite necessary. Otherwise, if everything went well, there wouldn’t have been any ups and downs to the story.) All of a sudden, with an earthshaking metal sound, the ferocious beast stopped and crouched down as if it had been called to a halt. Holding back its feet and closing its eyes, it looked as if it was bracing itself for a dressing-down. Before Prime Minister Feng had recovered his wits, a foreign monk emerged from the cave. How did he look? He had

Long eyebrows as white as snow,

Green eyes as sparkling as water,

A fiery red silk robe with seven folds,

A demon-subduing golden staff with nine rings.

He must have the halo of nirvana

From Mount Lanka, home of the Buddha.

At the gate of the cave, he put down his staff and addressed Mr. Feng with a Buddhist salute, “The little beast that knows nothing must have given you quite a shock, Prime Minister.”

Returning the salute, Feng said, “Where have you come from, Your Reverence? Thank you for saving this old man!”

The foreign monk said, “This poor monk is the master of this cave—Golden Light Cave. I hope you’ve been well since we last met. I’ve set out some low-grade tea for you in my cell. Let’s go there and chat for a while.”

On hearing the words “I hope you’ve been well since we last met,” Prime Minister Feng peered intently at the foreign monk’s face and thought that he did look familiar, but in the rush of the moment, he could not place him. So he followed the monk to his cell.

After tea was over, Feng was about to ask detailed questions when the master of Golden Light Cave stood up and said to him, “This is a bleak and desolate cave with nothing to see. If you, sir, would like to view the mist and clouds and the waters, let me take you outside to visit another cave.” Whereupon Prime Minister Feng followed the monk out of the cave.

The clear sky, the scenic views, the warm sun, and the gentle breezes provided an altogether different experience from what rivers and mountains in the mortal world could offer. In a trice, they reached a place where a ten-thousand-foot cascade fell into a clear creek spanned by a white stone bridge. A path lined with speckled bamboo led to a cave beneath a peak. On the gate of the cave was a glass board, on which were inscribed in gold the characters “Cave of the Venerable Elder of the Jade Void.”

“There must be extraordinary things in this cave,” said Feng to the master of Golden Light Cave. “If I could tour this cave, I wouldn’t ask for more!”

“It is precisely for that purpose that I invited you to come all the way here!” So saying, the master of Golden Light Cave pushed open the gate and led him in.

Contrary to Prime Minister Feng’s expectations, all that met his eyes was a scene of desolation, with dust covering the ground and no sign of human life anywhere in sight. Behold:

No flame remains in the golden stove;

The jade chime makes not a sound.

The red candles have long been extinguished;

The cave gate is closed throughout the day.

Cobwebs spread all over the empty rooms;

Bejeweled hooks hold the heavy canopies.

Ribbed curtains hang sadly over the walls;

Worm-eaten are the gilded sutras on the shelves.

The empty courtyard is overgrown with weeds;

The forlorn railings are covered with moss.

None but cranes stand in the shadow of the pine trees;

No man has returned to enjoy the mountain view. (MC: These last two lines can serve as a couplet for a mountain dwelling.)

Haltingly, Prime Minister Feng made his way to the backyard, where he saw an acolyte chanting sutras at a table. Feng asked, “Why isn’t there a monk in this cave?”

On hearing the question, the acolyte closed his book, rose from his seat, and said with a bow, “The Venerable Elder of the Jade Void has been on a trip to the human world for fifty-six years now. He’ll be back in this cave in another thirty years. No one went out to greet you, honorable guest, because the master is away.”

At this point, the master of Golden Light Cave said to Feng, “There’s no need for questions, sir. You’ll understand soon enough. In this cave, there’s a Deserted Tower that rises above all the other peaks and commands a panoramic view. I’ll take you up the tower. We’ll rest there for a while before returning.” And so they ascended the tower.

In the tower, Feng found the floor paved with green tiles and the doors guarded by golden animal statues. The eaves were inlaid with jewels, and the rafters were wrapped in jade dragons. Piled up on the shelves were scrolls of celestial writings with rollers made of rhinoceros horns. Mr. Feng was about to take a scroll for a look (MC: Out of habit.) when the master of Golden Light Cave pointed to a cloud-hooded peak and remarked, “You get a wonderful view from here. Why don’t you come to the railing and enjoy it?”

And so Mr. Feng turned from the scrolls and went to the railing to enjoy the view. There, far in the distance, was a compound that was

Partially concealed by blue wisps of smoke

And enshrouded in a red mist.

Intertwining tree branches cast a cool shade;

By the jade tower with its exquisite blue tiles

Stood jasper trees with swaying branches.

With sparkling water lapping at the shore

And silvery waves reflecting the sky,

The verdant grandeur and cold light dazzled the eye.

In the glaring sunlight, the compound looked as if it was covered by acres and acres of colored glaze. After gazing at the spot for the longest time, Feng asked the master of Golden Light Cave, “What kind of place is that? It’s so beautiful!”

Astounded, the master of Golden Light Cave replied, “It’s none other than the Double Maha [Sanskrit for “Great”] Pond. You used to go there often to view the hills and the waters. Don’t you remember?”

On hearing these words, Prime Minister Feng lowered his head and began to search his memory, but he still failed to recall any visit to this place from early childhood onward. And yet, he seemed to have a very dim recollection of the surroundings. In bewilderment, he said, “I’ve been so swamped with official duties that I’ve forgotten the places I visited in my younger days. I have no recollection of my last visit here. Everything about this place has faded from my mind like a dream. This is what overwork does to one—a depressing thought when faced with what should have been familiar scenery.” (MC: Having practiced Buddhism in a previous existence, he is quick to “make the turn.”)

The master of Golden Light Cave said, “A Confucian scholar like you should be above such sentimentality. A human being is in the Great Void only temporarily. In one lifetime, one may experience glory, exhaustion, grief, joy, gains, losses, unions, and separations, and then comes reincarnation, ending what seems like a dream. When you’re in a dream, you ask no questions. So when you wake up, why do you have depressing thoughts? You must know that, according to the Diamond Sutra, one should take everything to be a dream, a bubble, a drop of dew, or lightning. This is the right approach. Throughout history, analogies have been drawn between dreams and the fleeting lives of humans. If you, sir, awake to the truth in the middle of a dream, just turn back to the right path. Why have depressing thoughts? What I say to you is the truth. Please don’t dismiss this old monk’s words lightly.”

A feeling of reverential awe came over Prime Minister Feng as he heard those words. He was about to sit down for a good chat when he noticed that the sun was setting by the eaves and the day was yielding to evening. Wishing to return, he took leave of the master of Golden Light Cave, saying, “Thank you for taking me on this tour. Now that I’ve thoroughly enjoyed myself, it’s time for me to return. I wonder when we’ll be able to meet again.”

“What kind of talk is this? You and I will soon be fellow Buddhists spending a great deal of time together under the trees. We’ll surely meet again!”

“Having just recently recovered from an illness, I’ll be returning to my post. The demands on my time will be so relentless that I won’t have time to relax with Your Reverence under the trees.” (MC: He has not yet awakened from his dream.)

The master of Golden Light Cave said with a smile, “Time flies in the mortal world. Thirty years flash by in a trice. This old monk will be waiting here for you to come back in the twinkling of an eye to live in this cave again.”

“However unworthy I am, I occupy a grade-one official post. If, by the emperor’s grace, I can return to my village in the future and stop working for a pittance as an official, I’ll live out the rest of my life as a happy farmer. What’s more, thirty years from now, I’ll be an old man. I can’t imagine myself sitting in this cave in a monk’s robe with my head shaved.” (MC: Still talking dream talk.) As the master of Golden Light Cave smiled without saying a word, Feng continued, “Does your smile mean that I’m mistaken?”

“You’ve been confined to the mundane world for so long that you’re convinced you have no identity other than the one you have in this lifetime.” (IC: Thus obstructing the operations of karma.)

“How can I have identities other than this one, in the flesh?”

“Beyond the present form of your body, there’s your original body. By coming here, the form of your body has also become your original body. If you didn’t have another identity, how did you leave here in the first place? And how did you manage to come here today?” (MC: A good reminder.)

“Does Your Reverence have a way of showing me my other identity?”

“That should be easy,” said the master of Golden Light Cave. With a finger, he traced a circle on the wall, blew on it, and said to Feng, “Please look at this!”

Feng walked up to the wall and saw what looked like a bright round mirror where the cave master had drawn the circle. A closer look revealed

A veranda and a waterside pavilion,

A moonlit dock and a flowerbed,

A small bridge across a pond, and

Weeping willows by green windows and red doors.

The pond and the pavilion seemed familiar to Prime Minister Feng, but he wondered what could have brought the garden into a wall. Suspecting trickery, he said harshly, “The Buddha delivers people by open and aboveboard means. Why does Your Reverence resort to magic tricks to fool people?”

Bursting into hearty laughter, the master of Golden Light Cave stood up and said, pointing to the southeastern corner of the garden, “How can that be conjured up by a magic trick? Please look closely, and you’ll be able to tell if it’s true or false.”

Mr. Feng walked up and looked harder. There, in the middle of the garden, was a narrow, winding path flanked by a whitewashed wall on one side and a carved balustrade on the other. It led to a thatched cottage in the depths of a grove of flowering shrubs.

Its bamboo window stood half open,

With a homespun curtain hanging low.

Late in the morning, with the sun three poles high,

One wisp of incense rose from the vessel in the yard.

Inside the cottage, a man with his eyes closed was sitting cross-legged on a prayer cushion on the meditation couch. As Prime Minister Feng began to grow apprehensive at the sight, the master of Golden Light Cave slapped him on the back and said, “Who were you in the ‘Knee-Room Hut’?” (MC: A slap and a shout that hit home.) Then he went on to intone a quatrain of admonition:

Fifty-six years ago,

We each occupied one cave.

Tarry not in the “Knee-Room Hut”!

Take the invitation to Jade Void Cave!

Having intoned the quatrain, he shouted into Prime Minister Feng’s ear. With that, a flash of understanding lit up Feng’s mind: He was the one who had occupied Jade Void Cave in a previous existence, and he was the one residing in “Knee-room Hut” in his present lifetime as a mortal being. Involuntarily, he cried out, “I knew nothing about my other identity. Only now do I understand the dream of dreams!” He was beside himself with joy at his attainment of enlightenment.

He wanted to ask questions about the fountain of the mind so as to verify his enlightenment, but when he turned around, the master of Golden Light Cave had already disappeared. He cast his eyes over the entire monastery grounds and saw

The Sakyamuni Hall under fleecy clouds,

A winding veranda in a shimmering mist.

He listened but heard no chiming of the bells;

He looked up but saw no soaring peaks.

The Jade Void Cave was part of

The immortals’ abode on the ocean;

The empty towers belonged to

The land of ultimate bliss.

He could have been viewing a work by Zhang Sengzhou,17

But by now, the scroll had been rolled up again.

In a trice, the veranda, the monastery, the cave, the river, and the hills vanished without a trace. He found himself all alone, sitting stiffly on his meditation couch in the backyard of his Knee-Room Hut. The sweet taste of his tea remained in his mouth, the soughing of the pines still came to his ears, the incense burner was still emitting wisps of smoke, and the shadow of the flowers in front of his couch had not moved. While he was in meditation, for only a brief moment, he had traveled more than ten thousand li. Reflecting on his recent experience, Prime Minister Feng believed that what he had seen and heard was too real to be a dream. He knew he had seen his true identity in the stillness of his meditation. In addition, he was fifty-six years old at this time, exactly the number of years the acolyte had said that the Venerable Elder had spent among mortal beings. All too clearly, he was a reincarnation of the Venerable Elder of the Jade Void, a fellow Buddhist of the master of Golden Light Cave. Henceforth, he called himself “the old monk” when conversing with guests.

One day thirty years later, he died peacefully in his sleep. As expected, he returned to Jade Void Cave. As the poem says,

His true self in the Jade Void Cave

Had a dream that lasted eighty years.

Of all worthy figures, past and present,

Who does not have a previous life?