(Minghui.org) Greetings, Master! Greetings, fellow practitioners!
Time flies, and the progress of Fa-rectification is advancing rapidly. Master recently published several articles that helped me realize the seriousness of cultivation and how urgent time is. However, due to my attachment to comfort and other human notions, I didn’t spend enough time studying the Fa and doing the exercises, so my cultivation state fluctuated.
At first I hesitated to write a sharing article. I then asked myself: “Why should I write about my experiences? Is it to show other practitioners that my cultivation isn’t bad? Am I worried that others might think poorly of me if I don’t write something?”
I dismissed these thoughts and realized I should take the time to reflect on my recent cultivation journey. I can identify areas where I’ve fallen short to improve next time and have insights from my experiences that I can share with others. Writing this is also an opportunity for me to look inward deeply.
I grew up in a warm and happy family and followed my parents to practice Falun Dafa when I was a child. People said I was calm, understanding, kind, and considerate. I consistently excelled academically, so I was praised.
While this can showcase Falun Dafa’s beauty and extraordinary nature, it gradually nurtured my attachments to seeking fame and a desire to maintain a good image. I find it particularly difficult to endure criticism and blame. Consequently, I faced many challenges related to these attachments when I started working with a media project.
At first, I was very cautious—I was afraid of making mistakes that the other practitioners might point out. To avoid conflicts, I hesitated pointing out others’ mistakes. I often edited their mistakes myself or left minor mistakes unaddressed.
I eventually realized this was a strong self-protective mindset rather than genuine kindness. I should be responsible for the program and communicate about problems openly, honestly, and with patience. Gradually, I noticed that the practitioners who did the broadcasts were more accurate, and there were fewer mistakes.
Over time, however, I developed an attachment to showing off. When I noticed the other practitioners’ mistakes, I thought, “How could they make such a basic error?” or “Don’t they have common sense?” I even felt relieved that I didn’t make mistakes. I recognized this was rooted in jealousy and a desire to show off—I felt I knew more and worked more diligently than others. In reality, I was trying to validate myself.
I began to pay close attention to my thoughts, promptly addressing negative thoughts and eliminating them. Gradually, I noticed my tendency to look down on others diminishing, and I found myself more understanding of my fellow practitioners.
Several practitioners had a misunderstanding due to communication issues. When I heard about it, I immediately messaged a practitioner and apologized. I said I looked within and discovered my desire to maintain a good image, and I hesitated to say “no” to others’ requests, which resulted in her being misunderstood by the other practitioners.
To my surprise, she quickly responded with several messages, saying she was unaware of my difficulties, specifically, my responsibilities at home with a young baby. She asked why I hadn’t told her about my family situation.
Despite my repeated apologies, she insisted that I hadn’t found my cultivation issues. She pointed out that she started practicing Falun Dafa in 1996 and had more experience than I did—then she asked when I began to practice. My eyes filled with tears; I felt she didn’t acknowledge that I was a practitioner.
I tried to calm myself and continued to reflect on why she said such things. I suddenly realized that I had a deeply hidden desire to be recognized by other practitioners, and I wanted them to acknowledge me. When facing conflicts with them, I seemed to look inward, but it was superficial, because I knew they would think I didn’t cultivate well if I didn’t apologize.
I also realized that I felt I a deep understanding of the Fa. Therefore, when she dismissed my looking inward, the blow to my self-esteem hit me even harder than her earlier criticisms. It was because my hidden desire for recognition had been touched upon, and it didn’t want to be eliminated. However, as a practitioner, all attachments—including the desire for fame—must be removed.
Discovering this was an excellent opportunity for improvement. I needed to realign myself with the Fa. When I reflect on this now, I’m surprised that I allowed myself to be so deeply affected at that moment.
When I was in China, I was particularly fond of Shen Yun. The most anticipated event for me every year was the Shen Yun performance during the New Year. I often thought about how wonderful it would be to contribute to Shen Yun if I ever had the chance to leave China, especially since Master spoke about how practitioners outside of China help promote Shen Yun.
After arriving in Switzerland, I felt incredibly honored when I had the opportunity to participate in Shen Yun projects. Over the past two years, Shen Yun made it possible for people to subscribe to a website to see some performances online. I was offered an opportunity to help promote the subscription.
At first, I felt anxious, worrying that my unstable cultivation state might negatively impact our project. I committed to getting up early every morning to do the exercises to counter this. It was challenging because I was still nursing my baby at night. If my willpower wavered, I accidentally fell asleep.
In 2023, I promoted subscriptions to the Shen Yun website during the performances. With no sales experience and some language barriers, I worried that I wouldn’t do well. Encouraged by the coordinator, I cooperated with other practitioners. I also focused on sending forth righteous thoughts throughout the event. At the same time, I observed how other practitioners interacted with the theater patrons, learning how to present the product naturally and smoothly during intermission. The following evening, an audience member approached me. Without hesitation, he downloaded the app. He returned after the show to complete the setup and purchased an annual subscription. I believe this was possible because I also saw the performance and felt Shen Yun’s powerful energy so deeply.
After the first evening show, I checked my phone. My husband had called several times, leaving the message: “Baby misses Mommy.” Tears immediately filled my eyes. Our baby was only ten months old and still nursing, and I felt both physically and mentally pushed to my limits. I rushed to speak with the coordinator, asking if I could come in later the next day. She understood my situation and left the decision up to me.
On my way home, I slowly calmed down. A fellow practitioner reminded me that this was like climbing a mountain: I was probably nearing the summit, and this stage was the most challenging part of the journey. This insight inspired me. I realized this situation was a false impression set up to test me. If I could let go of my worries, it would also provide a good opportunity for my husband to become closer to our child.
The next day, I stuck to my original plan and left home in the morning. I felt relieved. When I got home later, everything was fine: My son and husband were doing well.
During the 2024 Shen Yun performances, I didn’t have the same concerns about my family as the previous year, but the tests of my character were still interconnected.
I encountered several audience members who wanted to chat about the persecution of Falun Dafa in China, and I struggled to redirect the conversation back to the annual subscription for the Shen Yun website. I began to look inward and asked myself why I found myself in these situations. I realized my focus had strayed; I wasn’t concentrating on selling the subscription. Subconsciously, I thought that, as long as I told them about the subscription, whether the audience purchased it or not was out of my hands. This mindset stemmed from a desire for comfort and showed that I lacked commitment.
Another audience member asked if I was one of the performers. I smiled and said I wasn’t and then told him about the Shen Yun subscription. However, my vanity and excitement were also triggered, significantly impacting my sales effectiveness. As a result, I didn’t sell a single subscription during this year’s performances.
I felt a bit disappointed, but the tests didn’t stop there. While everyone else went backstage to meet the performers, I was left in the lobby to watch our booth.
I worked hard to push away all my negative thoughts. After not seeing my son for three days, my emotions were mixed, and I couldn’t help but cry. I asked for Master’s support and said I wished to rid myself of these negative feelings and not interfere with Shen Yun’s mission to save people. I suddenly remembered a passage from the Fa.
Master said:
“In offering salvation to people, there is no condition or consideration for cost, reward, or fame. They are thus far nobler than the heroes of everyday people. They do it completely out of their benevolent compassion.” (Lecture Two, Zhuan Falun)
I repeatedly recited that passage, and all my resentment disappeared. Wasn’t I pursuing something? I hadn’t even fulfilled my own mission, yet I kept focusing on what I could gain and worrying about losses. I truly felt ashamed for not honoring Master’s painstaking arrangements and my own sacred vows.
Last year, my in-laws came to stay with us for three months, which was quite challenging for me. It was the first time I’d ever lived with them, and there were significant differences in our eating habits and lifestyles.
At first, jealousy crept in, and I hesitated to let them near my son. After all the hard work I put into taking care of him for a year and a half, I felt it was wrong that they could enjoy that privilege so easily as soon as they arrived. As a result, my son didn’t bond with them and clung to me whenever I was home, refusing to let them hold him. I eventually realized this was because I was jealous. So I rejected my negative thoughts, and he gradually grew closer to his grandparents and was able to spend time with them alone, allowing me to focus on projects at home in peace.
One evening, my mother-in-law suddenly burst into tears and said she wouldn’t come to stay with us anymore. I initially felt annoyed but then reminded myself that, as a practitioner, any conflict must stem from my shortcomings.
I comforted her and asked if I’d done something wrong. She explained that my father-in-law was picky about what he ate, so she worried I would be upset and complain about him. My father-in-law then quarreled with her. I hugged her, reassured her that it was okay, and told her I wasn’t upset. I told her not to argue with my father-in-law because of me. She felt relieved and stopped crying.
I understood that I still needed to improve my character. Compared to other practitioners, I wasn’t kind enough to my in-laws. Sometimes, I felt unbalanced, thinking that, since my son was born, they only cared about him and neglected me, while my mother was the only one who truly cared.
One day, I found this thought quite amusing. I was seeking warmth and attention from ordinary people. Even if I got that attention, would it matter? Could these human desires take me to higher realms? Wasn’t pursuing happiness in this world taking me further from the divine? This realization lightened my mind significantly, and I stopped getting tangled up in who was treating me well or poorly.
Please correct me if there is anything inappropriate.
Thank you, Master! Thank you, fellow practitioners!
(Presented at the 2024 Switzerland Falun Dafa Cultivation Experience Sharing Conference)