The Secret of the Questions That Appear in the Mind

The atmosphere in American university classrooms is often cold and tense, but for Minh—a young Vietnamese man pursuing a degree in Therapeutic Psychology—each afternoon was a strangely warm moment. He forever remembered the day his American professor walked into class, dimmed the lights, and guided the whole class to meditate right in their chairs. The method was so familiar that Minh almost burst into tears: it was the very same practice he had absorbed since childhood, when he would run around Phap Quang Temple, listening to every word of his master's teaching.

But life is not only about moments of peace. As his final Master's year concluded, the door to the Doctoral program opened with a cruel challenge. Only five spots were available, while over two hundred and fifty of the most outstanding applicants crowded in. It was a true battle, where every score, every essay decided the future. While many friends began scrambling to hide materials and keep experiences to themselves for an advantage, Minh did the opposite. He spent hours each night explaining complex concepts to his classmates, sharing every valuable resource he had collected, and even proactively guiding those who hadn't asked for help.

One evening, as the desk lamp cast its light over a thick textbook, his roommate looked at him with confusion:

"Are you crazy? The competition is this fierce and you're still worrying about others. What if they become better than you and take your spot?"

Minh lifted his head, his eyes shining with a steadfast faith, his voice gentle but firm:

"I remember my master's teaching. True success isn't about stepping on others to climb up. If I help you succeed, that good energy will return to me. I believe in the law of cause and effect more than in the luck of a scramble."

Time passed, and the first round of selection based on his entire undergraduate and graduate transcripts concluded. Minh's scores were very high, yet he anxiously awaited the results of the second round—the oral examination directly before a panel of professors. This was the most frightening part, as the professors were known for their "trick" questions, beyond any textbook, demanding extremely fast critical thinking. Everyone prepared themselves mentally to stumble, give disjointed answers, and lose their chance.

A few days before stepping into the examination room, while Minh was relaxing after a long day of review, three exceptionally difficult questions suddenly appeared clearly in his mind. They did not seem like something he thought of himself, but as if someone had placed them directly into his consciousness. At first, Minh was surprised, but then the instinct of a practitioner brought him calm. He immediately took notes, researched specialized materials, applied logical reasoning, and drafted the most detailed and rigorous answers he could. He considered it a gift, a reminder to prepare even more thoroughly.

Examination day arrived. The meeting room was sealed shut, the bitter smell of coffee mingling with a solemn atmosphere. The panel chair, a silver-haired professor with a sharp gaze, looked at Minh and spoke:

"Please analyze the connection between impermanence and acceptance in modern psychotherapy. And why is this method more effective than traditional therapies in cases of severe depression?"

Minh's heart pounded, but not from fear. This was exactly the first question that had appeared in his mind days before. He took a deep breath, steadied his composure, and began to answer. Each idea, each argument was presented coherently, combining scientific evidence with practical experience, all within the plan he had prepared. The professors nodded, exchanging glances full of approval. There was no stammering, no deadly silence. Minh answered fluently, confidently, and thoughtfully until the final professor exclaimed:

"Your answer far exceeds expectations. You were very well prepared."

Walking out of the examination room, Minh held the result sheet with trembling hands. A full four-year scholarship, covering tuition, food, and housing. An outcome he had never dared dream of if relying solely on his own strength in that fierce competition. That night, sitting under the moonlight, Minh wrote a letter back to Vietnam to his master, his hand shaking with emotion:

"I wish to share good news. I passed and received a full scholarship. But the most wonderful thing is not the degree, but the questions that appeared in my mind before the exam. I realize that because I wholeheartedly helped my friends, sowed good seeds without calculating loss or gain, the celestial beings guided me. The secret to success does not lie in contention, but in helping others succeed first."

**Meaning of the Story**

This story illustrates a core living philosophy: The secret to the most sustainable and miraculous success is to help others succeed first. Instead of falling into a spiral of fierce competition, selfishness, and suspicion, choose the path of unity, support, and sacrificing personal interests for the community. When we sincerely plant wholesome seeds, the universe (or celestial beings/divine grace) establishes its balance, bringing opportunities and illumination that mere effort alone cannot achieve. Humility and absolute faith in the law of cause and effect are the keys that open the door to happiness and fulfillment.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang.