Embracing the Pain

The small house at the end of the street was strangely silent. On the altar, a solemn portrait of a boy about ten years old sat with an innocent smile that seemed to linger in the air. His mother slumped onto a bamboo chair, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her red-rimmed eyes staring into the void. The atmosphere in the room felt thick and heavy, weighed down by a nameless sorrow.

It had been three months since her son passed away from a sudden illness. Ms. Hanh, once a strong and lively woman, now moved like a quiet shadow. Neighbors came to visit out of compassion, offering comfort. Some advised her to travel for distraction, while others told her not to think too much, to forget, and that everything would be fine. Yet these words did not soothe her; instead, they cut deeper into her heart. The more she tried to escape, the more the pain clung to her like a ghost, refusing to let go.

One afternoon, Ms. Hanh visited the temple to see an elderly monk. Sitting beneath a bodhi tree where leaves rustled softly, she wept. She confessed that everyone told her to forget, but the harder she tried, the more she remembered. She did not know what else to do.

The monk looked at her with gentle, calm eyes. He replied softly, telling her not to avoid the pain. He advised her to dwell within the suffering (dukkha), to look directly at it and face it. He said not to run away or fill the emptiness with temporary pleasures. Instead, he urged her to embrace the pain as one embraces a crying child. He promised that if she did this, the pain would naturally fade within two or three days.

Ms. Hanh looked up, tears streaming down her face. She asked how she could bear to look at it constantly, fearing it would tear her apart. The monk explained gently that it remained because she feared it. He compared it to a wound: if you bandage it tightly without letting it breathe, it heals slowly. But if you expose it, clean it, and face it, it dries and heals faster. He assured her that the pain was not as terrifying as she imagined.

Ms. Hanh returned home filled with doubt, yet she decided to follow the teacher’s advice. That evening, instead of turning on the television for mindless entertainment, she sat quietly before her son’s altar. She looked directly at his photo and allowed the pain to surge. She did not suppress it or wipe away her tears, letting them roll freely down her cheeks. She spoke to her son, saying that she missed him and hurt deeply, but she would stay present with him and with this pain.

On the first day, the anguish felt tearing at her insides. On the second day, it was still there, but slightly lighter. By the third day, miraculously, she felt a strange peace within. The pain was no longer a crushing burden; it became part of her memory, a profound lesson in impermanence (anicca). She began to smile when remembering her son rather than only crying. She understood that although her son had left, love remained eternal.

From then on, Ms. Hanh lived more lightly, accepting what comes and goes. She often shared her lesson with others facing similar grief. She told them not to flee from pain, but to embrace it. Only by daring to face it can one truly overcome it.

The Meaning of the Story

This story teaches us that all suffering and misfortune in life cannot be resolved through avoidance. A golden principle of Buddhism is to abide in oneself. We must face our pain, look directly at it, and embrace it, yet not cling to it. When we bravely remain with the suffering, it dissolves on its own. This is because the nature of suffering is impermanence (anicca); only our attempts to escape cause it to persist forever.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Most Venerable Thich Chan Quang