A Conversation with My Father on Seeing the Buddha

By Venerable Kusala, Peace House monk

Recently I have been reflecting on what it really means to see the Buddha. For many people, including members of my own family, the Buddha is something to be seen with the eyes — in statues, temples, and sacred places. There is devotion in that, and devotion carries its own beauty. Yet the practice keeps inviting us to look a little deeper.

A conversation with my father brought this reflection into focus.

My father is now an elderly monk, seventy-eight years old. Not long ago he had been in the hospital for some medical tests, and when we spoke afterward our conversation naturally turned toward aging, illness, and death. I asked him, almost casually, what we should do when the time comes and he dies. His response was very simple. He said that once he is gone we may do whatever we feel is appropriate. There was no concern about arrangements or ceremonies. It was said with a kind of acceptance that reminded me how naturally life moves toward its end.

Then I asked him another question. I said that according to the teaching of rebirth, we never really know where a being might appear again. Perhaps one could be born in a fortunate place, perhaps in a difficult one. I even suggested half playfully that one day he might be reborn as a small creature somewhere in our mother’s house.

He immediately dismissed the idea. With strong confidence he said that could never happen because he sees the Buddha all the time.

When I asked him how he sees the Buddha, he spoke about a place that is very dear to him — the great Ruwanweli Mahā Seya in Anuradhapura. Many Sri Lankans know that massive white pagoda rising above the ancient city. My father loves to travel there. Even in his old age he gets on a bus at night, travels all the way to Anuradhapura, circumambulates the stupa, meditates there, and then returns home. For him, the Buddha is still present there. In his mind the Buddha is almost as if reclining within that sacred presence.

Listening to him, I felt the sincerity of his devotion. Faith can give people strength and meaning. Yet at the same time I felt the need to gently share another perspective on what it means to see the Buddha.

So I told him a story.

Two friends once traveled into the Himalayas carrying with them a wooden statue of the Buddha. They had gone there to meditate in seclusion. One night the cold became unbearable and they ran out of firewood. The only wood they had left was the Buddha statue they had brought with them.

One of the friends decided to burn the statue so that he could survive the freezing night and continue his meditation. The other friend was horrified. To him the statue was sacred and untouchable. He refused to stay and left in search of firewood somewhere else.

The friend who stayed burned the statue and kept himself warm through the night while continuing his practice. By morning his mind had become liberated. When he later went searching for his companion, he discovered that the other man had died in the cold.

When I finished telling the story, my father reacted with surprise. The idea of burning a Buddha image sounded shocking to him. His reaction revealed something important: how easily the mind becomes attached to forms and symbols.

Yet the story points beyond the form.

The Buddha is not confined to wood, stone, or metal. Images may inspire devotion, but they are not the Buddha himself. The Buddha is truly seen through the understanding that he awakened to and shared with the world.

When the mind begins to see how experiences arise due to conditions and pass away when those conditions change, we begin to glimpse the same wisdom the Buddha realized. In that moment we understand what it means to say that seeing the Dhamma is seeing the Buddha.

When anger arises and we understand it instead of feeding it, the Buddha appears there. When compassion replaces resentment, the Buddha appears there. When wisdom recognizes the impermanent nature of thoughts, feelings, and perceptions, we are touching the living Dhamma.

Images like the serene Buddha statues in temples, or the great Ruwanweli Mahā Seya in Anuradhapura, can inspire devotion and reverence. Yet the Buddha is truly encountered whenever the Dhamma becomes clear in our own experience.

Sometimes a simple conversation with an aging father — after a hospital visit, while speaking about illness, life, and death — becomes a quiet reminder that the Buddha is not somewhere far away. The Buddha is present wherever the Dhamma is understood and lived.