A Great Dream: Reflections on My Visit to Dharma Drum Mountain

Sometimes life is like a great dream.

In this dream, we are busy chasing and busy running, believing that if we keep moving forward, we will eventually find the answers. Only when we stop one day do we realize that what we have lost is not the road, but our own mind.

The mind comes and goes, wavering and divided, but in the end it must return to wholeheartedness.

At that time, I was like a flower in the desert, desperately waiting for a nourishing rain; like a long-abandoned garden, overgrown with weeds, yet still longing to bloom again.

My mind was like an untamed horse galloping wildly across an endless wilderness. I could no longer tell east from west, nor did I know where the journey would end. I only knew that I had to keep running. What lay ahead? Where did my heart truly want to go? I did not know.

At such a turning point in my life, I suddenly heard a voice that I had not heard for a long time.

"Come."

Without much hesitation, I followed that voice and came to Dharma Drum Mountain.


Dharma Drum Mountain World Center for Buddhist Education is located in Jinshan, near Taipei, a monastery nestled between the mountains and the sea. Coincidentally, the place where I live in England is also called Golden Hill. Perhaps it was merely a coincidence, or perhaps it was an unseen arrangement.

Walking into Dharma Drum Mountain felt like stepping into a Pure Land in this world.

Here, there are no national boundaries, no distinctions of gender, no hierarchy of status, and no judgments of good or bad. Everyone is simply a fellow practitioner walking the path together. The kindness among people needs no words, yet it can be seen everywhere. A smile, a greeting, or a glance is enough to make one feel deeply warmed.

I knew that I had not come here merely to travel, but to seek a path that truly leads beyond suffering to genuine happiness.

When I first arrived at Dharma Drum Mountain World Center for Buddhist Education, a typhoon happened to be passing through.

A gentle rain fell continuously over the mountain. We could only make our way between different buildings through the long indoor skywalks and corridors. Before long, the winding passages and countless turns left me completely lost.

At four o'clock on the second morning, it was still pitch dark outside.

To arrive at the kitchen before five for volunteer work, I set out in the darkness. When I reached the area near the Grand Buddha Hall, I lost my way once again.

The surroundings were so quiet that only my own footsteps could be heard.

Silently, I recited, "Namo Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva," praying for the Bodhisattva's blessing. Before long, an elderly volunteer appeared in my sight. I quickly approached her for directions. With great kindness, she showed me the way, and I finally found the kitchen.

Looking back now, I realize that I had not merely found a path. Rather, it was a reminder that when the mind is willing to let go of its panic, someone will naturally appear to light the way.

Only after daybreak did I truly see Dharma Drum Mountain.

The green roof tiles, the grey buildings, and the dark brown wooden signboards were all simple and unadorned, yet dignified and magnificent. The buildings followed the contours of the mountain, existing in harmony with nature—neither competing with it nor disturbing it, but coexisting peacefully. Covered corridors connected the various buildings, quietly protecting every practitioner on rainy days.

This design is not only practical, but also embodies a spirit of stability and care.

For the first three days, I spent almost all my time trying to find my way.

It was not until the fourth day that I finally began to slow down.

My body relaxed, and my mind gradually became settled. I began to enjoy walking alone through the mountain, delighting in discovering every corner of Dharma Drum Mountain.

Sometimes I would meet a Fashi around a corner. Sometimes I would join the Fashis for a cup of coffee at the café, talking about the Dharma and about life. Those seemingly ordinary moments have now become some of my most precious memories.

During my stay, I also volunteered for service.

Every morning at five o'clock, I reported to the kitchen for work, washing communal utensils and preparing the fruit needed for the day. In the afternoon, I helped with cleaning and organizing at the General Affairs Office of the Sangha University.

While working in the kitchen, the sound of "Amitabha Buddha" continually echoed around me. There was little conversation. Everyone quietly cut fruit, washed utensils, and simply focused on doing the task before them well. With each recitation of the Buddha's name and each movement, my mind gradually became more settled.

An elderly volunteer often said to me, "Take your time. Just do the task before you well."

She reminded me to let go of my anxiety about the unknown, to settle my mind in the present moment, and to practice an unmoving mind in daily life.

I came to understand that practice does not necessarily take place in the Chan Hall, nor only on a meditation cushion. Slicing fruit, washing dishes, and bending down to wipe the floor can all be forms of practice.

When the volunteers chatted with one another, the Buddhadharma naturally appeared in their everyday conversations. There was no preaching, yet every word nourished the heart.

After work, a senior volunteer took me to visit the Founding History Memorial Hall and the Lotus Bell. She also accompanied me to the Eco-Friendly Memorial Garden to attend the ash burial ceremony of a bhikṣuṇī.

The entire ceremony was solemn and peaceful. There were no elaborate rituals, yet it was filled with quiet strength. At that moment, I deeply felt Dharma Drum Mountain's respect for life and came to understand that life and death are not opposites, but part of the natural flow of life.

During my study visit, I was also arranged to meet the new Master of the Chan Hall, Venerable Chang Sheng.

When we first met, Venerable Chang Sheng welcomed us with freshly steamed buns prepared in a Tatung electric cooker. His naturalness, warmth, and childlike spirit made it feel less like a first meeting and more like a reunion with an elder I had not seen for many years, or a kind and caring father.

He first asked my name, where I came from, and why I had gone all the way to England. He quietly listened to my sharing without rushing to give instruction or answers.

After I had finished speaking, he shared several methods of practice that were especially suited to my present condition. Among them was the "Three-Four-Three Buddha-Name Recitation" advocated by Master Yinguang, teaching me how to gather the mind and gradually settle a scattered one.

Before we parted, he gave me one sentence:

"To apply your mind wholeheartedly is the power of security;
To worry is unnecessary suffering."

The moment I heard those words, my eyes filled with tears.

At that moment, I felt that Venerable Chang Sheng had seen the part of me that had always tried so hard to appear strong, yet lacked a sense of security and confidence in myself.

That single sentence was like a ray of light shining into my long-confused mind.

I finally understood that compassion is not always expressed through dramatic acts of salvation. More often, it is someone truly seeing your suffering, understanding your confusion, and accompanying you for part of the journey in the gentlest way.

On the last day, as I left the mountain, I knew that I had not attained great enlightenment.

My afflictions had not disappeared, nor would life suddenly become smooth and effortless.

Yet the mind that had been constantly running, constantly anxious, and constantly searching outward for answers had finally begun to slow down.

Life is still like a dream.

This time, however, I am no longer afraid of the dream.

Because I know that wherever I may go, as long as I am willing to return to this present thought, to awaken again and again, and to let go again and again, there will always be a path leading home.

What Dharma Drum Mountain has given me is not an answer, but a direction.

May I always remember Master Sheng Yen's teaching of "Peace of mind, peace of body, peace of family, and peace in all endeavors," wherever I may be in the future.

The dream has not yet ended, and life continues.

But I know that the untamed horse that was once lost in the wilderness has begun to learn the way home.

Written by Ivy Yanjing
Photo: Venerable Chang Duo (常鐸法師)