After using that method to break through appearances, I saw what I truly looked like. I also saw that my former self had merely been a cluster of cognitive patterns carrying habitual modes of thought.
What lay beyond those cognitive patterns was the real me.
Because I had used Buddhist teachings to break through appearances, I believed in Buddhism without the slightest doubt. I believed without the slightest doubt in every word spoken in the name of Buddhism.
I believed that cultivating Buddhism and Enlightening the Mind and Seeing the True Nature meant becoming someone who, after breaking through appearances, was no longer swayed by cognitive habits.
When my friend died, I was simply sad for one minute before pulling myself out of the emotions of missing him.
Because I knew that my emotions came only from the things I thought about.
If I did not think about his death and thought only of the happy memories we had shared, then although I was still thinking of the same person and still thinking of his good qualities, the emotions I gained were different.
Gradually, I quit every emotion except joy.
Some said that Buddha made no distinctions—that whatever Buddha saw brought joy, without any negative emotions.
So when I saw all living beings, every flower, every blade of grass, every person, and every object, joy arose in my heart.
I felt this was ultimate bliss, bliss of the spirit, because I was no longer bound by those worldly cognitive habits.
Everything I saw seemed good. Even breathing felt beautiful.
I let go of everything. Family, friends, flowers, grass, trees, mosquitoes, insects, rats, and ants—there was no distinction between them.
They and I were united under a single name: life.
In this state where joy was my only emotion, I also pitied the suffering of living beings, because they were just as I had once been, reincarnating amid all manner of chaotic, fluttering thoughts.
One moment, some happy experience sent them to heaven; the next, some painful experience sent them to hell.
They could not shatter the cage of thought patterns. Whatever they encountered, they instinctively thought about it; whatever they thought about gave them a corresponding state of mind.
The only difference between them and me was that when I encountered something, the emotion I had depended on which emotion I wanted—not on the event or the person. I could freely control my thoughts in any situation, making them follow the arrangements of my true heart, freely shifting perspectives to obtain the emotions I needed.
Though I desperately wanted to help others understand the principle behind this, I also knew I could not forcibly interfere. I could only let them awaken to this truth themselves.
In my eyes, there was no longer any such thing as good or bad. Good was fine; bad was fine. Being alive was fine; one day leaving was fine too.
At that time, my girlfriend said something to me.
"Don't be like this, okay? It feels like you've become a different person. No matter what I tell you, you just cheerfully say it's fine. You don't have any emotions at all. You might as well curse at me a couple of times."
After hearing that, I remained cheerful and said nothing. But I considered a question.
I asked myself: if I only had joy and no other emotions, was that fair to the people around me? I had cultivated my heart to this point, but they had not. If I only cared about myself being free of troubles and pain, was that also a form of selfishness?
After thinking of this, I began training myself to deliberately distinguish right from wrong, deliberately stir up emotions, deliberately get angry, and so on. Since I had already quit emotions, I needed to do these things intentionally first. Once I got used to it, I would return to how I had been.
Just as I had expected, after some time, I jumped out of the state where joy had been my only emotion.
I merged the two versions of myself into one. Looking back, I realized that the ultimate bliss Buddha spoke of was also a kind of appearance. I had merely dwelled there for a time.
In other words, I had borrowed Buddhism's cognition to leap beyond ordinary people's cognition, and now I had leapt out of Buddhism's cognition as well.
Those masters you can see now—the kind with almost no emotions, who are happy in whatever they do, who do not make things difficult for themselves or others, who seek nothing and suffer nothing—are like that because their hearts dwell in ultimate bliss.
Because there was no emotion of suffering in their hearts, only hearts full of joy and pity for all living beings.
Through these two breakthroughs of appearances, I discovered that people were always dwelling in appearances. Those who studied people dwelled in the appearance of people; those who studied Buddhism dwelled in the Buddha phase; those who studied living beings dwelled in the appearance of living beings.
Buddha said that Buddha originally had no appearance—no appearance of others, no appearance of self, no appearance of living beings.
Therefore, one could not become Buddha by studying Buddhism. Only after one no longer even sought to become Buddha could one become Buddha.
I constantly absorbed every kind of knowledge, researching and contemplating it. I contemplated what Buddha was, why one had to become Buddha; I contemplated what the Dao was, why one had to cultivate the Dao.
How was spiritual consciousness used? What was the Primordial Spirit for?
After another bout of studying and contemplation, I found that it coincided with many of the principles I had previously realized about the Dao, as though we had agreed without prior consultation.
Let me insert a plot from the TV drama Heaven's Way to explain.
At that time, Mr. Ding went to Mount Wutai to discuss the Dao and wrote a poem:
"Once awakened to the Dao, speak no more of Heaven's decree; in cultivation, seek not the true scripture. One sorrow, one joy, one flourishing, one withering—who says any of it was destined in a past life? The cassock was never pure; the red dust could not stain the empty nature. The ancient temple's thousand-year bell tolled faintly and deep—yet all were dreams spoken by fools."
The master asked Mr. Ding, "What is the true scripture? If cultivation should not seek the true scripture, then what is one cultivating?"
Mr. Ding said, "The so-called true scripture is the ultimate method that can reach silent emptiness and nirvana. It can be awakened to, but not cultivated. Cultivation, in becoming Buddha, is seeking; awakening, in understanding one's nature, is knowing. Cultivation uses practice to govern nature; awakening to the Dao uses nature to direct practice. The Awakened One gives rise to Precepts from the heart; the cultivator uses Precepts to restrain the heart. Those who have faith but no realization may not fall into evil consequences, yet they dwell in cause, dwell in effect, dwell in thought, and dwell in heart. Thus they arise and perish, unable to attain nirvana."
Put simply,
If one wanted to become Buddha, one could only awaken to it, not rely on cultivation. Cultivation meant that, in order to become Buddha or achieve this or that, one wanted to do this or that—it was purposeful seeking.
Awakening meant clearly knowing in one's heart the laws of the mind, knowing that thought and one's true self were not the same thing.
Cultivation meant forcibly changing the patterns by which thoughts operated through actions such as Precepts and the instilling of ideas.
Awakening to the Dao meant that from one's original heart—from one's nature, or in other words, from the root—the real self directly issued commands to thought and changed its patterns.
Relying on faith to cultivate could still bring good results; it could change one's habits. But because one sought something, the heart of self-attachment still existed. At the root, nothing had changed.
It was just like how I had previously borrowed Buddhism to break through appearances. Before I began cultivating, I discovered that my thoughts were beyond my control, constantly thinking about all kinds of things. I was deeply troubled, so I began doubting that my thoughts were not my true self. Only to figure out why did I begin cultivating. That was purposeful.
When I used Buddhist methods to verify my speculation, it was equivalent to borrowing Buddha's appearance, entering another appearance from the original one.
Though I had leapt out of the original appearance, I was still within appearances and had not awakened. I had merely believed that I was awake.
If I had not leapt out once again, then I would have remained trapped in that appearance forever. Though there was no pain, only joy, I had not truly broken free.