Humility, Warning, and the Three Carts
After returning from Dalong, the speaker says he had an experience involving his eye being closed for a whole day, and he took it as a merciful warning from Heaven. He says it taught him something: he had been too strict.
He then applies this lesson to the association. Before, if someone arrived one minute late, there was a fine; if someone was absent, there was an even heavier fine. He himself used to sit there keeping watch and recording who arrived when. But now he says he will stop doing that. If people want to come, they can come; if not, then not. Each person should cultivate for himself.
He says he has only one principle: speak about the Dao, not about money. As long as that principle is not violated, others are free. If someone privately wants to give a little support to workers without using public funds, he will not interfere. The whole point is that Heaven’s sign was telling him not to govern everything so harshly.
The speaker recalls how poor he once was while still going out night after night to lecture on doctrine. He says he lived on rice gruel with almost nothing in it—sometimes only salt, sometimes only a little soybean-skin side dish. Some old association officers once secretly went to his house while he was eating and saw what he actually lived on. One woman, Mrs. Yang, began to cry when she saw that he lived in such poverty and still kept going out to speak on the Dao.
He says his home was so low and shabby that people had to bow their heads to get in. When it rained, water leaked through and had to be caught in basins. For more than forty years he still kept lecturing under those conditions.
He says his wife originally opposed this way of life, but later she was moved by what she saw. He had once done business by day and lectured in temples by night; if he had money, he sent it home, while he himself lived hard outside. Her family suspected that he must be enjoying himself elsewhere, but when she went and saw how he was really living—doing everything himself, eating plain food, spending almost nothing—she understood. That is why she was later willing to follow his path.
Now, he says, in old age he has better fortune: his son, daughter-in-law, and even his adopted children are filial to him. So his present comfort must be understood against the hardship of the earlier years.
He says he has already given himself to living beings, and if one cannot see through fame and profit, then true liberation from birth and death is impossible.
From there he turns to his recent trip to Dalong. Flights were delayed for hours, and some fellow students kept complaining. He told them not to complain: if the same ticket lets you sit, wait, walk around, and “play” in the airport for free, then look at the good side. This, he says, is what it means to “turn the situation” with the mind.
The same happened with food in Dalong. The local cooking was sweet, and many people could not eat it and started blaming the cooks. He told them not to complain. The issue was not that the cooks were bad, only that the taste was different. So he asked for the vegetables simply to be blanched in water and dipped in soy sauce, and then they became easy to eat. Again, this was “turning the situation.”
He says he came back ten kilograms lighter, and instead of resenting it he thanked Heaven: other people pay a lot of money to lose weight, while he got it for free. This too is a matter of finding the good point.
He connects this directly to the *Dao De Jing*: “highest goodness is like water.” If a person can learn from water—free, flexible, not rigidly bound—then he has already learned half the Dao. He says Heaven also used his closed eye and even his recent inability to eat properly after dental work to remind him not to be too severe.
So, when adversity comes, one should not stay in resentment. One should quietly look for what is good in it. Then the mind becomes calm. If there were no setbacks and no annoyances, where would cultivation come from? Without a whetstone, how would a blade become sharp? If others treat us badly, then let them be the whetstone and let us be the treasured sword. When affliction appears, one should reflect that it is one’s own karmic obstruction being worked through.
The speaker says he had intended to continue directly with the next lines of chapter 8, but he had not yet fully worked out that passage, so he apologizes and says that is his own fault.
Instead, he uses the line about water as a bridge into a broader comparison. Laozi speaks of water, Confucian teaching also draws on water, and Buddhism too uses water as a metaphor for cultivation. He therefore cites the *Fo Guang Dictionary* and the scripture on the questions of the Bodhisattva Chugaizhang, where water is used to explain ten kinds of bodhisattva virtue.
He explains the general idea: water is pure, cools heat, relieves thirst, nourishes growth, and benefits beings broadly. In the same way, the Dharma-water can help beings, wash away defilement, cool the heat of affliction, and relieve the thirsty dryness of craving.
He especially highlights that water flows downward. Therefore a cultivator should practice equality and humility, not stand above others demanding service and offerings. He says that even on his trip to the mainland he took this seriously: the trip was not just sightseeing. Some local guides did not understand their own history and religion and explained things wrongly, so he tried to speak doctrine to them as well.
He closes that segment by saying that the traditions may differ in wording, but in this respect they converge on one principle: water serves as an image of the Way.
The lecture now explicitly returns to chapter 8: “Highest goodness is like water. Water benefits the ten thousand things and does not contend. It dwells in places the multitude dislike.”
He reminds the audience that in the previous session he had already given many examples of the virtues of water, and he again notes that this is not only a Chinese idea. Buddhism also speaks of the virtue of water.
Some listeners had asked whether the scripture he cited really existed. So tonight he clarifies the source: if one looks in the canon, one should consult the *Baoyu jing* (*Ratna-megha Sutra* / *Precious Rain Sutra* tradition), because this is where the material connected with the *Questions of the Bodhisattva Chugaizhang* is found in translation.
He then gives bibliographical notes from the *Fo Guang Dictionary*: the number of fascicles, where it appears in the *Taishō Canon*, and the translators involved, such as Manduoluo Xian and Dharmarakṣa. Different translations may not use exactly the same wording, he says, but the doctrinal content is the same.
With that background in place, he returns to the “ten water analogies” and moves from the first item—water flowing downward—to the second: planting and watering the seeds of virtue.
The second water analogy is that a bodhisattva plants the seeds of awakening widely and constantly waters them with the “water of concentration,” so that they grow and bear marvelous fruit, just as trees and grain grow when nourished by water.
He pauses to explain “concentration-water.” Here *ding* means meditative stability. The image is still water: when water is motionless, things can be reflected clearly in it. Likewise, if the mind becomes still and unmoving, one can see one’s own pure mind.
He says people often say they want to see their original nature, but if the mind is not quiet, that nature cannot be seen. Liberation is not difficult in theory; the hard part is concentration and wisdom. Without meditative stability, wisdom does not open.
So if one wants to plant the seeds of the Dao or awakening, one must continually irrigate them with the water of concentration. Only then can they root, grow, blossom, and finally ripen into true attainment. Without that watering, wisdom does not open and the fruit cannot mature.
The third analogy is joyful delight in the good. The bodhisattva truly trusts the Three Treasures, delights in seeking the supramundane Dharma, and because the mind is pure, joy naturally arises. Water is like this too: by nature it flows and moistens, and it also moistens other things.
The fourth analogy is ruining the roots of affliction. With the water of meditative stability, the roots of trouble are soaked and broken down so they cannot sprout again.
The fifth analogy is intrinsic purity without mixture. Water at its source is originally clear, and in the same way one should separate from the mixed defilements of greed, anger, and delusion and guard the six faculties so that they become pure.
At this point he says the remaining analogies—from six through ten—will be continued, and then again signals a return to chapter 8.
He resumes the list of water analogies.
The sixth is cooling the heat of affliction: the cool Dharma-water relieves beings oppressed by the burning heat of troubles.
The seventh is quenching the thirst of craving: in the dusty world beings generate attachment, and the teaching can relieve this thirst just as water relieves literal thirst.
The eighth is depth and breadth without shoreline: the wisdom gathered in cultivation is so deep that demons and outsiders cannot measure its limit, like waters that join together beyond visible bounds.
The ninth is filling high and low alike: with great compassion, one teaches according to the capacities of different beings so that all receive benefit, just as water reaches places at different levels.
The tenth is washing away dust and filth: with the water of concentration and wisdom, one softens the heart and removes coarse, evil habits.
Having completed the ten analogies, he returns again to Laozi’s text: “Water benefits the ten thousand things and does not contend. It dwells in places others dislike. Therefore it is near to the Dao.” He now turns to Patriarch Lü Chunyang’s explanation of “dwelling well in lowly ground.”
Patriarch Lü says that “dwelling well in lowly ground” means exactly this: water naturally goes downward and stays in the lower places that people usually dislike. The sage is the same. He does not crave high position or noble status, and is willing to remain nameless and without rank. Because he is humble and does not contend, he can be good wherever he dwells. Even if he truly has Dao and virtue, and even if they are high and weighty, he does not use them to fight for status. Therefore he avoids enemies and trouble.
Then Lü explains “the heart is good when it is deep like an abyss.” An abyss is deep and hard to measure. Water is a fluid: heated, it turns to vapor; cooled, it turns solid; placed in a square vessel, it becomes square, in a round one, round. It benefits things without contention. So too the sage adapts to time, place, and person. His teaching works across different capacities, without excluding classes of people. The depth of his Way and his transforming power cannot be measured, and this is why the text says “the heart is good when abyssal.”
He now restates the point in plain language. “Abyss” simply means something so deep that it cannot be measured. Water changes form according to conditions: with heat it becomes vapor, with cold it becomes ice, and in whatever vessel it is placed, it takes that shape. Because it benefits beings without struggling against them, Laozi can say that the highest goodness is like water.
Likewise, a sage teaches according to time, place, and person. This is why the explanation turns into the language of “three vehicles” or “three carts,” a notion found in both Taoist and Buddhist explanatory traditions. He says he will now supplement the lecture by explaining what these three carts are: the sheep-cart, deer-cart, and ox-cart.
Drawing on the *Xiuzhen lu* and also the *Lotus Sutra*, he explains the “three carts.”
The sheep-cart represents lower-level practice. It remains within the burning house of the three realms and the six paths. One may be cultivating, but one is still confused and revolving within delusion. That is why the verse says the sheep-cart “carries fire” and is practiced amid confusion.
The deer-cart represents middle-level practice. It is more refined and moves along more smoothly, “like water flowing,” but even here those who actually attain the true fruit are few. Many gain only better rebirths among humans or gods rather than final liberation from birth and death.
The ox-cart represents higher practice. Here the key point is not brilliance but endurance. One must be like an ox: willing to labor, willing to bear resentment, willing to be scolded, willing to carry burdens without complaint. He pauses to insist that true cultivation requires exactly this quality. One must not fear hardship, criticism, or being misunderstood.
He then connects this with “bearing labor and bearing resentment” in practical life. He even gives an everyday example: when he tried to prepare commemorative bags for members, some people criticized them before they had even been distributed. So what should one do? Not become offended. One should simply accept the criticism and continue. This too is part of cultivation.
He then says that if one seeks the very highest path, the three carts must be unified, and beyond them stands the white ox-cart from the *Lotus Sutra*. This becomes the bridge to the next section.
He concludes by explaining the “great white ox-cart.” According to the interpretive tradition he is citing, only an ox-king can pull that cart. So the image is transferred to the Buddha himself. Shakyamuni was a prince of Kapilavastu, and in worldly terms he possessed supreme rank and wealth; yet he saw through wealth, rank, fame, and profit and worked for the sake of all beings. In that sense, he was like an ox, and more than that, the king among oxen.
The speaker says that a person studying the Dao must likewise be willing to appear dull or foolish—like an ox—rather than be lured away by name and profit. Only then can one cultivate the true fruit and eventually ascend to Buddhahood.
He cites Buddhist dictionaries saying that “ox-king” is a praise-name for the Buddha or great bodhisattvas: the strongest among oxen, the unsurpassed one among people. The practical lesson remains simple: if you truly want release from birth and death, do not fear hardship, and do not fear other people’s blame.
With that, he says, the explanation of the “three carts proceeding together” comes to a temporary close.
This literal version consolidates the lecture’s English material into continuous notes, keeping close to the spoken sequence while preserving explanatory detail.