The Indirect Path of Breath

That afternoon, pale golden sunlight slanted through the living room window, illuminating tiny dust particles dancing in the air. The clock ticked steadily, but inside Lan, a storm was howling. She slumped onto the sofa, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white, her fingernails digging painfully into her palms.

Before her stood her tenth-grade son, Minh, head bowed with a stubborn expression. The reason he gave sounded both ridiculous and infuriating: "This subject isn't important, Mom. Skipping one class won't matter." His words were like a match dropped into the powder keg in her heart. Lan felt blood rush to her head, her heart pounding as if it would burst from her chest. Her breaths became rapid, shallow, and quick; each inhale felt like her lungs were being squeezed. The intense wave of anger made her whole body tremble, her vision blurring with frustrated tears.

"Why? Why do you dare lie to me like this?" Lan shouted, her voice hoarse. "I've raised you and supported your studies properly, and you treat education with such contempt?"

Minh remained silent, his lips pressed tight, his gaze avoiding hers. The atmosphere in the house was thick and suffocating. Lan wanted to scream, to smash something to release her anger, but then she remembered the words from the dharma talk the week before. The teacher said that when our mind is agitated, our breath becomes chaotic. Conversely, if we can adjust our breath, the mind will naturally calm down. This is the reciprocal law, the indirect path full of wisdom that the Buddha taught.

Lan took a deep breath, but this time not to suppress her anger with an iron will—an old method she knew would fail. Instead, she closed her eyes, focusing completely on her breathing rhythm. She began to inhale very gently, very lightly, just enough to feel the cool stream of air seeping into her nostrils. Then she exhaled longer, more softly, letting go of the tension in her shoulders, her back, and her clenched jaw.

"Inhaling... knowing I am inhaling," she recited silently in her mind. "Exhaling... knowing I am exhaling."

A minute passed. Then two. The judgmental thoughts about her son were still there, but they were no longer as sharp as a knife blade. They were like dark clouds gradually dissipating after the wind blows through. Lan's body began to soften from its tense state. Her shoulders dropped, her belly relaxed. She felt a warmth spreading from her lower abdomen, where she had placed her full attention.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Minh still standing there, but the aggressive glare in her own eyes had softened. She looked at her son, not as a mother losing control, but with awareness. She realized that the recent anger was just a physiological reaction, a flow of energy that needed to be guided, not blocked.

"Minh," she called his name, her voice much deeper and calmer than before. "Come here, let's talk."

Minh looked up, surprised. He had never seen his mother so calm after an argument. He walked over and sat down opposite her.

"I understand you're tired," Lan said, maintaining her steady breathing rhythm. "But studying is your responsibility. I don't want to yell or scold. I want you to be self-disciplined. If you find a subject difficult or boring, tell me. We can find a solution together. Don't skip school."

Minh looked at his mother, then at her hands intertwined on her lap—hands no longer trembling, no longer clenched into fists. He nodded slightly: "Yes, I'm sorry, Mom. I will go back to school."

Lan smiled, a gentle smile stemming from inner peace. She realized that by not directly attacking the chaotic mind, but choosing to take the indirect path through the breath, she had regained mastery over herself. This was not mere endurance, but the subtlest art of controlling the mind.

The Meaning of the Story

This story illustrates the principle of "Indirect Mind Control" in the Buddha's meditative concentration. When our mind is in revolt (angry, anxious), we should not try to use willpower to suppress or punish those thoughts, because the more we try to intervene directly, the more easily the mind becomes agitated, leading to stress and even nervous damage. Instead, we use indirect means such as adjusting the breath (inhaling gently, exhaling long and softly) and relaxing the body. According to the law of interaction between body and mind, when the breath and body become calm, the mind automatically quiets down and returns to a state of balance. This is the scientific, logical, and most effective way to subdue delusory thoughts.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang