The Empty Robe of the Dharma Teacher

In the Jetavana Monastery, the afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, casting warm light onto the brick courtyard. An elder sat teaching the Dharma to hundreds of young monks. His voice was deep and clear, each word pouring into the listeners’ ears like nectar. The newly ordained monks sat around him, their eyes brightening as they nodded in understanding. To them, the path of practice suddenly seemed as clear as a map drawn with words. Everyone left carrying a new sense of faith and a fresh direction for their lives.

This elder was named Potila. He was famous within the Sangha for his skill in preaching. His teachings were not only eloquent but also perfectly aligned with the Buddha’s words, without a single error. Seeing this, the Buddha entrusted him with the important role of teacher, guiding the young monks. Many relied on his instruction to grasp the path and attain enlightenment. Yet, despite years of preaching and helping countless others awaken, Potila himself had not yet attained liberation.

The strange thing was that he spoke so beautifully about the Dharma and understood it so deeply, yet achieved nothing personally. He told himself, “Perhaps my destiny is still to teach others; I will save my own realization for later.” He felt secure in his role as a teacher. But the Buddha did not share this view. One day, while Potila stood attending to the Buddha, the Enlightened One called out:

“Hey, empty Potila, come here.”

Potila froze. “Empty”? Why empty? But he dared not ask, silently obeying instead. From then on, whenever the Buddha needed him, He would call:

“Hey, empty Potila, do this task.” “Hey, empty Potila, come over here.”

The name “empty” repeated itself, day after day, month after month. At first, he comforted himself, thinking, “Surely the Buddha has some intention.” But gradually, hearing his fellow monks whisper and seeing their pitying glances, shame began to rise in his heart. He wondered, “What exactly is empty about me? I preach well and teach many, yet the Buddha keeps calling me empty?”

One afternoon, sitting alone under a tree, he suddenly realized the truth. What he took most pride in—his career as a preacher—in the Buddha’s eyes, was merely “empty” if there was no inner realization. He taught others, but he had never tasted the flavor of liberation himself. He guided people in practice, but he had not practiced enough to transform himself. Was this what “empty” meant? He covered his face, tears streaming down. He recognized that he had been complacent for too long. He thought, “I have lived this life teaching one person after another, thinking it sufficient. But the Buddha does not accept this. He wants me to realize the truth, to have genuine experience, not just speak beautifully.”

He went to the Buddha and asked for permission:

“World-Honored One, please allow me to leave the assembly and find a quiet place to devote myself to meditative concentration. I wish to attain enlightenment; I no longer want to live an empty life.”

The Buddha looked at him, smiled, and nodded. Potila bowed respectfully and departed. He learned of a place where thirty Arhats were practicing together. He sought them out.

Upon arrival, he found a scene of profound tranquility. Monks sat in meditation beneath the trees, their faces peaceful. He approached the eldest senior monk, bowed, and asked to learn the path. The elder looked at him, smiled, and pointed to another monk nearby:

“You should go to the next one.”

Undeterred, Potila bowed to the second monk. This one also shook his head and pointed to the third. Thus, he moved from one to the next, from the oldest to the youngest, finally reaching a small novice who had already attained Arhatship. Potila felt no pride or offense. Instead, his heart grew light. He thought, “I was once a teacher to many, now I must kneel before a novice. But if this helps me cease being ‘empty,’ I am willing to do it.”

He approached the novice, bowed respectfully, and said:

“Venerable sir, I am Potila. I wish to dedicate myself to meditative concentration. The elders directed me to you. Please kindly teach me how to apply effort.”

The novice, sitting by the pond, glanced at him and calmly said:

“If you wish to practice, jump into the pond.”

Without hesitation or question, Potila stood up and jumped into the water. The pond was freezing cold, soaking his robes completely. He stood there, waiting quietly. The novice looked at him and nodded:

“Alright, come out.”

Potila climbed out, water dripping from his body. The novice said:

“Imagine a house with six doors. Wind enters, rain enters, noise enters, preventing anyone inside from focusing. You must close five doors and leave only one open.”

Potila remained silent, reflecting. The novice’s words resembled no sutra he had ever heard. Yet, he understood immediately. The five doors were the five senses: eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and body contacting the external world. Leaving only one door meant guarding the mind, the heart. He bowed to the novice, found a flat spot under a tree, sat down, and began to practice.

He closed his eyes, letting go of all thoughts about teaching, reputation, and praise. He focused solely on his body, aware of every breath and subtle movement. He rested in mindfulness of breathing, contemplating impermanence (anicca) within the body, never leaving it. The five doors gradually closed, leaving only the body as the single point of attention. His mind grew still, entering deep meditative concentration.

As he entered this state, the Buddha, far away, knew that Potila’s conditions for enlightenment had ripened. He appeared before Potila, radiating brilliant light, and recited a verse:

“Practice meditation, wisdom arises; Neglect meditation, wisdom ceases. Know clearly these two paths, Of samsara or of liberation. Therefore, strive diligently, To let wisdom grow.”

Hearing the verse, Potila’s mind burst into clarity. All attachments dissolved. He attained the fruit of Arhatship in that very moment. Opening his eyes, he saw he was no longer “empty Potila.” He had truly realized enlightenment, not through words, but through peace within his own heart.

From then on, Potila no longer viewed preaching as a career. He lived in the bliss of an Arhat. When necessary, he shared the Dharma, but with deep insight, free from any trace of ego.

The Meaning of the Story

This story teaches us that speaking well of the Dharma is not enough; we must realize it ourselves. Do not be complacent with mere words or intellectual understanding. Devote yourself to practice, restrain the senses, and keep your mind anchored in the body so that wisdom may arise. Adversity, rebuke, and humility are bitter medicines necessary to break the ego and lead us to liberation.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang