A Peaceful Heart Makes Even a Thatched Hut Steady; a Settled Nature Makes Even Turnip Roots Sweet
When the heart is at peace, a thatched hut stands firm; when the nature is settled, even turnip roots taste sweet. The ways of the world are seen only in stillness; human bonds endure longest when kept light.
— Excerpted from Mingxin Baojian (Mirror of Brightening the Heart)
I once thought I had already shed my restlessness and no longer grew impatient over anything. But these past two years I have realized I am not as strong as I imagined; I had overestimated my powers of composure. Only after living through some of the ways of the world did I begin to see where my problems lay, and in that process I grew once more; I am calmer and quieter than before.
One truly grows through setbacks. When growth reaches a certain stage, one can dwell at peace in a thatched hut and find even turnip roots a delicacy, the heart no longer reaching outward to seek anything. The ancients called this state "a settled nature" (xìngdìng). A person of settled nature moves through the world with greater quiet, chooses companions carefully, and abides by the old maxim that the friendship of a noble person is plain as water, keeping a certain nearness-without-closeness, a half-present half-removed distance. Such friendship lasts longest. Between friends, if two draw too close, each inevitably comes to demand too much of the other and to make demands that strain the other; over time, friendship becomes wearying, and the bond breaks.
The root of all worldly troubles lies in the five poisons within the human heart: greed (tān), anger (chēn), delusion (chī), pride (màn), and doubt (yí). Greed is avarice; anger is wrath; delusion is obsessive attachment and infatuation; pride is arrogance; doubt is suspiciousness. Only by casting out these five poisons from one's heart can one truly become a person of settled nature, content in any state of existence while the mind remains untroubled. Only by casting out these five poisons can one see the ways of the world clearly, not be deluded by the outside, and live in the joy of one's own inner heart.
And to cast out the greed, anger, delusion, pride, and doubt in one's heart, one must cultivate oneself "still and yet ever illuminating, illuminating and yet ever still": in a state of inner silence, observe oneself and the outer world, and through observing both, train the heart into a stiller state. Observation (guānzhào) is a Buddhist term: it means silently reflecting in a state of meditation and, in that reflection, forgetting the self. The state of meditation differs from person to person; some must sit in formal meditation to reach it, while others can meditate whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down. As for what meditation is, according to the Platform Sutra: "Being apart from outward forms is called chán; being inwardly unruffled is called dìng"—that is, as long as one is detached from external things and the heart is not disturbed, one has attained the state of dìng.
It is not hard to remain detached in a calm life, but hard to remain detached amid ceaseless storms; not hard to keep the heart still in a quiet place, but hard to keep it still amid noise; not hard to forget the self and the world at a single moment, but hard to do so at every moment. To rise above the storms of life, to keep the heart still amid noise, and to forget self and world at any moment, one must rely on the polishing of the years to gradually arrive at a settled nature.
I do not dare boast that I have already reached the state of a settled nature. But I have become aware of where my problems lie, and I am working hard to cultivate myself, drawing step by step closer to that state. I hope soon to achieve the unity of knowledge and action and become a more grounded person.