The Tears of the Ocean and the Vastness of Earth

The atmosphere on New Year’s Eve at Phat Quang Pagoda that year was truly special. It was not marked by dazzling fireworks or the glaring neon lights of the city, but by a profound stillness where hundreds of people sat quietly, listening to every word of guidance from the resident master. Candlelight shimmered on reverent faces, creating a space that felt both warm and sacred. In that moment, the question "What do you see?" was posed, not only to those present but as an opening into an inner world far vaster than any external scene.

The master recounted that once, the Buddha took a novice monk to the highest mountain peak. From that height, with the divine eye of an enlightened being and the keen vision of an Arhat, they gazed out toward the endless, vast ocean. Mountain winds blew strongly, carrying the salty scent of the sea and the rhythmic crashing of waves like an eternal song. The Buddha turned to the novice, his voice deep and warm yet full of power.

"What do you see in this boundless sea?"

The novice remained silent for a while, his eyes seeming to pierce through the deep blue waters to perceive the hidden currents of time and karma. Then he replied, his voice trembling slightly with emotion at the truth he had just realized.

"Venerable Sir, I see the vast ocean, but I understand that the tears of sentient beings are more numerous than the water of the seas."

At first glance, this answer might seem exaggerated. How can small tears compare to the immense ocean? But if we look with the eye of Dharma, we see that each tear shed across countless lifetimes in samsara—born from loss, separation, and illness—truly exceeds the capacity of any ocean. The suffering of sentient beings is infinite; nothing can contain it all.

The Buddha nodded in approval, then asked again as their gaze shifted to the expansive land below the mountain.

"And when you see this great earth, what do you see? What do you think?"

The novice bowed his head, his heart filled with compassion.

"Venerable Sir, seeing the vast sky and earth, I know that there is no place where the bodies of sentient beings have not been buried beneath."

Every centimeter of soil holds the flesh and bones of humans and animals from countless past lives. Birth, aging, sickness, death, and rebirth follow one another in an endless cycle. If we look only with ordinary eyes, we see green grass, fragrant flowers, and lush trees. But if we look with wisdom, we see the fierce impermanence and the relentless suffering of samsara.

An inner struggle began to arise in the hearts of the listeners. We often live hurriedly, chasing temporary pleasures: rejoicing when we gain money, grieving when we lose it, laughing at happy events, and crying at sad ones. But are these emotions enduring? Or are we drifting along the current of ignorance, much like the verse quoted by the master from a Zen teacher: "All phenomena are the Buddha's teachings, yet because I do not understand, I drift along with ignorance." This means that everything in life is part of the Buddha's teachings, but because we lack understanding, we remain lost in delusion.

To illustrate this point, the master told the story of an old man living alone in Long Hai. He had no wife, no children, and no relatives, surviving precariously beside the edge of a cemetery. Every morning, he climbed up the Palace Hotel to pick up fallen frangipani blossoms, dried them, and sold them to buy rice. His life seemed hopeless, yet within that solitude, he found a support more solid than blood ties: blessings from merit.

When he fell ill, the master cared for him, cooking porridge and arranging electricity for his use. On the day he passed away, no one came to pay respects; only the master stood to handle the funeral arrangements. This story touches upon a crucial turning point: in this world, parents may pass away, wealth may run dry, houses may collapse, and even children—those in whom we place our hopes for old age—may betray us. There was a mother in Hue who raised five children to success, yet in her final years, she had to beg because her children fought over assets and abandoned her. Human hearts are fickle, but the blessings from merit we create remain loyal.

The lesson is clear: never place absolute trust in external supports. View every event, whether a falling leaf, a flowing river, or a lonely bird’s cry in the night, as an opportunity for contemplation. When our mind/heart is pure, we will see the Dharma in every small detail. We will understand that the true purpose is not to avoid sadness or cling to joy, but to seek enlightenment and liberation from the cycle of birth and death.

**The Meaning of the Story**

This narrative emphasizes that all phenomena in life—the sea, the earth, falling flowers, birdsong—contain truths about impermanence and the suffering of samsara. However, only when our mind/heart possesses sufficient wisdom and meditative concentration can we truly "see" these realities rather than being swept away by ignorance. The core lesson is to cultivate blessings from merit as the most solid foundation for our lives, because human relationships and material things are fragile. Only merit offers a safe and enduring refuge to navigate the ups and downs of existence.

Compiled from the dharma talk of Most Venerable Thich Chan Quang