The Master Real Person ascended the platform and took his seat.
He summoned all those present in the estate and began to expound the Great Dao.
“Observe those who seek the Way: their eyes burn bright as they pore over the Tripitaka, their fingers diligently counting prayer beads. Yet their spirit platform remains shrouded in mist; the true words pass through their ears like wind slicing through a window.
Their hearts are dust-sealed; the precious manifestations before them are like the moon’s reflection on a cold pool. It is like a blind man holding a lamp to see—though the lamp glows brightly, sightless eyes cannot perceive. Or like a deaf man playing a zither seeking sound—the strings tremble, but deaf ears cannot hear.
How tragic!
A lamp without roots is eventually extinguished by karmic winds; a leaky vessel holding dew is doomed to be dried by the fires of tribulation…”
“Therefore, the true cultivator must be like the oil that solidifies the wick first, to moisten it well. False thoughts are like winds—protect the flame of the heart so it never wavers; worldly troubles are like rain—cover it with a canopy of wisdom so it never tips over. Once the wick is firm and solid, what fear is there of the fierce winds of countless kalpas? The heart’s light will naturally pierce darkness, breaking through the accumulated fogs of countless lifetimes…”
“But if this root is neglected, even if the lamp’s glass cup is carved with dragons and painted with phoenixes, when the oil runs out, it will be rotten wood. No matter if adorned with Jewels of Seven Treasures, inlaid with jade and gold, once the wick breaks, all is charred wood! That moment the lampstand topples, a raging sea of fire erupts; trapped in the blaze, the body burns itself to ashes…”
The Master Real Person’s discourse on the sutra was truly like a sudden flare of the lamp of the heart, a moon of wisdom shining brightly overhead.
