The Flower and the Dust in the Heavenly Realm

As dusk settled, golden sunlight filtered through the sparse falling leaves in the temple courtyard. A gentle breeze carried the faint scent of freshly cut wild grass. On the outdoor altar dedicated to the devas, yellow chrysanthemums and a plate of fresh fruit had just been arranged. Blue incense smoke curled gracefully in the still air. An elderly lay Buddhist stood with hands folded before the shrine, her eyes filled with reverence as she gazed at the offerings, treating them as the purest things she could present to the higher realms.

“I offer these fruits and flowers,” she said softly. “May the devas accept my sincere heart.”

She firmly believed that for the heavenly realm, this was clean food, suitable for holy beings. Yet deep down, she had never considered what her so-called purity truly meant to the devas. To understand this, we must look at the varying capacities of sentient beings. Humans clearly distinguish between clean and unclean: bottled sterile water is clean, while bodily waste is dirty. However, that same waste is a delicacy for a dog. Hungry ghosts, due to past miserliness and exploitation, suffer from shrunken necks; they see fire as food and consider human vomit precious and clean. As for the devas in heaven—beings who cultivated holiness and were reborn there—their food is extremely fragrant and pure. Ordinary humans like us lack the merit to know it, but to the devas, even the finest earthly fruit is like dust, inedible. Only pure flowers, not for chewing but for contemplation, might barely pass muster among the celestial beings, though they are far inferior to heavenly flowers.

One day, after an offering ceremony, the lay Buddhist sat resting on the temple porch, feeling a subtle inner conflict. She looked at the leftover fruit on the plate, pondering the nature of cleanliness and impurity. She asked herself silently, “If I offer this, do they eat it? Or is it just dust?” Turning to the resident nun, she asked with concern, “Venerable Sister, if I offer such fresh and delicious fruits, do the devas receive them? Or is it still considered unclean to them?”

The nun smiled gently, brushing a wilted petal with her hand, her eyes kind. “The devas do not eat fruit as we do. To them, it is like dust. But they acknowledge your sincerity and bless the energy within it. When you eat it afterward, you feel healthy; when children eat it, they become more intelligent.” The woman’s hand trembled slightly as she clutched her robe. “So, am I offering dust?” The nun shook her head. “It is not ordinary dust. Sincere devotion gives it spiritual power. Whether something is clean or unclean depends only on one’s capacity and merit. What a dog sees as clean, we see as dirty; what a hungry ghost sees as precious, we reject. Do not cling to concepts.”

That night, the lay Buddhist lay awake, tossing and turning. The cold sound of the temple bell echoed in the courtyard. Closing her eyes, she saw herself standing between two worlds: on one side, humans clinging rigidly to ideas of purity; on the other, lofty devas who needed no mundane food. She realized that she offered not for the gods to enjoy tasty meals, but to express her heart and guide her mind toward goodness. The concepts of clean and unclean arise from delusion and discrimination.

The next morning, she returned to the altar. This time, as she arranged the flowers and fruit, she no longer burdened herself with thoughts like, “This is very clean; surely they will like it.” She adjusted the fruit plate, lit an incense stick, and whispered, “I know that to the devas, this is like dust. But my heart is sincere; please grant your blessings.” The wind scattered the incense smoke, fading in and out, and she felt an unusual lightness in her heart. From then on, whenever she made offerings, she still presented fresh flowers and fruit, but she no longer argued in her mind about cleanliness. She understood that the devas witness the mind, not the taste. And those fruits, once blessed with spiritual power, became nourishing and mysteriously peaceful when shared with her descendants.

Years passed, and the hillside temple continued its habit of offering to the devas each morning. The lay Buddhist had grown old, her hair completely white, yet every time she stood before the altar, she moved with the ease of someone who had washed away attachment. She told younger practitioners that the concept of clean and unclean is not fixed. The Prajnaparamita teaches that there is neither defilement nor purity, so that we may cease being controlled by our own discriminations. Her life thereafter was peaceful, free from suffering caused by the fear of offering something “unclean” to a wholesome realm.

The Meaning of the Story

According to Most Venerable Thich Chan Quang, all dharmas are neither defiled nor pure. This means there is nothing absolutely dirty or absolutely clean. The concept of cleanliness depends on the capacity and merit of sentient beings: what one considers dirty, another may consider clean. Understanding this, we are not bound by the discrimination of clean and unclean. We maintain an equanimous mind, making offerings with sincerity rather than clinging to appearances.

Compiled from the dharma talk of Most Venerable Thich Chan Quang