The Flames that Burn the Fetters

In the heart of an ancient forest, a young monk sat beneath a tree, his eyes closed, his breathing steady. Around him, birds sang and streams flowed gently, yet his mind remained restless, unable to settle. He opened his eyes, looked around, and sighed. For three long months, he had left the Buddha, seeking solitude here to practice diligently, yet he had achieved nothing. His mind drifted, unable to enter deep concentration.

He remembered his earnest request to the Buddha. The Buddha had given him a practice and advised him sincerely. He believed that with effort, he would soon attain realization. But as time passed, his practice remained stagnant. Doubt began to arise: "Perhaps this practice is not suited for me. Should I return and ask the Buddha for a different topic?"

With this thought, he rose, gathered his robe and bowl, and quietly left the forest. On the way back, he suddenly heard crackling sounds and smelled smoke. A fierce forest fire was approaching. The roaring flames consumed everything in their path. Frightened, he ran up a barren hill where no trees could carry the fire. From the high ground, he looked down upon a scene both magnificent and terrifying: the flames burning all things—trees, grass, everything turning to ash.

A powerful emotion surged within him. He thought: "My faults, ignorance, and fetters are as dense as that forest. How I wish they could all be burned away, just like this!" The emotion was so strong that his mind suddenly stilled and entered deep concentration. At that moment, the Buddha appeared from afar and recited a verse:

"Delighting in non-negligence, the monk who fears negligence, advances like a raging fire, burning both great and small fetters."

Upon hearing this, the monk attained the state of an Arhat. He no longer needed to return to ask the Buddha for a different topic. The practice given by the Buddha had been appropriate all along; the conditions simply were not yet sufficient. And sometimes, those conditions require a moment of intensity, a strong emotion, to ripen.

Each person has a different conditions for practice. One nun practiced for twenty-five years without attaining, and only at the point of despair, when she contemplated taking her own life, did she suddenly realize the path. One Zen master sat at the edge of a cliff to cure his drowsiness, and the fear of death awakened him to enlightenment. Yet another who imitated him sitting at a cliff’s edge fell to his death. We must never mimic the conditions of others. Let us trust, practice steadily, slowly, and surely.

**The Meaning of the Story**

Each person has their own unique path of practice. Do not be discouraged when results are not yet seen, and do not imitate the practices of others. Be patient and steadfast on your own path, trusting in the Dharma you have chosen.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang.