The Secret of the Meditator and the Lesson of Transformation

Late in the afternoon at Vinh Nghiem Pagoda in Saigon, pale golden sunlight slanted through stained-glass windows, casting shimmering streaks on the glossy tiled floor of the main hall. The air was so still that one could hear the wind gently rustling the bodhi leaves outside. In this pure atmosphere, an old man with white hair and beard sat cross-legged before the Buddha statue. His body remained motionless like a stone sculpture, his eyes half-closed, his breath steady yet seemingly dissolved into emptiness.

I was then a young man full of enthusiasm for the Dharma, stepping softly into the hall. After bowing to the Buddha, my heart overflowed with admiration for this solemn scene. Seeing the old man deeply immersed in meditative concentration, I dared not disturb him. I quietly sat behind him, mimicking his posture, trying to focus on my breath. Time passed slowly, each moment stretching endlessly. Suddenly, the old man opened his eyes. His gaze was sharp yet gentle, piercing through the depths of my being. He stood up, brushed dust from his robe, and walked out to the veranda where the cool evening breeze blew.

I quickly emerged from meditation, rushed after him to the veranda, clasped my hands, and bowed: "Yes, Teacher!"

The old man smiled, a smile containing many mysteries I could not yet decode. He asked, "Do you also enjoy meditation?"

"Yes, I very much wish to learn the essential principles of meditation," I replied eagerly. "I have heard that meditation helps purify the mind and eliminate delusional thoughts. But I struggle endlessly without knowing how to make the mind peaceful."

The old man pondered for a moment, looking far away toward the noisy traffic outside the pagoda gate, then turned back to me. His answer left me stunned.

"Now, find something to think about just one thing. Because your delusional thoughts are too scattered. Focus on thinking of only one thing to gather the mind in one place. Do you have a lover? If so, just think of your lover. That will also bring purity."

That statement felt like a bucket of cold water thrown onto the flame of my enthusiasm. I felt deeply disappointed. A long-practicing master, sitting in meditation before the majestic Buddha statue, taught me to... think about a lover to achieve purity? Was that meditation? Or was it merely escaping reality? I bowed again, but inside, I decided never to seek him out again. I fled, not asking for his address or promising to meet again. I told myself he must have lost his way, or simply did not want to share true secrets with a novice outsider like me.

Years later, when I had become a monk, wearing the kasaya robe and committing to serious practice, I coincidentally met him again. By then, he had become my junior brother in the Sangha. We lived together, chanting sutras and meditating side by side. On late nights when everyone rested, I often recalled that moment on the veranda years ago. Old curiosity resurfaced, but this time, instead of judging, I began to reflect more deeply on those words.

One afternoon, while drinking tea under an ancient tree, I boldly asked my junior brother (now an elderly monk): "Brother, back at Vinh Nghiem Pagoda, why did you tell me to think about a lover for purity? I was very disappointed and left."

He smiled kindly, pouring more tea into my cup. "Your disappointment was correct. At that time, you did not understand the nature of the problem. I wanted to test if you had enough awareness to recognize your own trap."

"What trap?" I asked, filled with questions.

"The trap of using delusion to destroy delusion," he replied in a warm, low voice. "You think there is a 'self' holding a sword to stab evil thoughts. But who holds that sword? It is the 'self,' the ego. And that ego is itself the most subtle form of delusion. When you force your mind to think of only one thing—whether a lover or the breath—you are using a new shell to cover inner chaos. That is not true purity; it is suppression. Like washing mud with mud, or cleaning filth with filth, how can the stench ever disappear?"

Those words struck my mind like lightning. Through years of practice, countless sleepless nights of meditation, I had always struggled with wandering thoughts, trying to push them out of my head. I was tired, exhausted, and felt like a failure. Now I understood why. I had confused controlling the mind with transforming the mind.

"So, how do we eliminate delusions?" I asked, my voice trembling with emotion.

He pointed to the damp earth beneath our feet, where green sprouts were emerging.

"Do not eliminate them. Plant lotuses. Look, that muddy swamp is foul and dirty. But if we sow lotus seeds there, nurturing them with reverence for the Buddha, morality, and merit, the mud will feed the roots. Leaves rise, flowers bloom. The stench vanishes, not because we wash the mud clean, but because beautiful life has occupied that space. Afflictions are enlightenment. If we redirect the flow of that deluded mind—from selfishness to altruism, from hatred to love—it becomes fertile silt nourishing wisdom."

I sat in silence, tears rolling down my cheeks. I remembered times of anger, greed, and delusion. All those emotions, once seen as enemies to be destroyed, now appeared in my mind as raw materials. If I knew how to use the energy of anger for repentance and correction, the energy of desire for diligent merit-making, and private love expanded into universal compassion... my life would change completely.

From that day on, I no longer tried to "kill" thoughts during meditation. Instead, I began each day by bowing to the Buddha with pure reverence—the first lotus seed. I cultivated morality, keeping precepts strictly—fertilizing the soil. I actively engaged in social work, helping others—caring for the growing plant. During meditation, I observed my mind like a farmer watching a field, patiently waiting for the lotus to bloom, rather than pulling weeds by hand.

Many years passed, and inner peace gradually permeated every breath and step. I realized the path of practice is not a war of destruction, but a miraculous process of transformation. From a foul swamp of ignorance and attachment to self, through correct methods and persistent diligence, it became a fragrant lotus pond where my soul found true peace.

The Meaning of the Story

The core lesson here is the danger of "using delusion to destroy delusion." Many practitioners fail because they believe a separate "self" is trying to control the mind, while that very "self" is the source of all confusion. The solution lies not in suppressing or eliminating thoughts, but in transformation. Like planting lotuses in mud, we must sow good seeds—reverence for the Buddha, morality, and merit—right within the emotions and thoughts deemed "evil" (afflictions). When the mind's energy is rightly directed, from selfishness to altruism, from hatred to compassion, the nature of the mind changes, bringing true purity and peace without exhausting internal battles.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang