In modern China, there was a famous monk named Lai-kuo. When he was still a young man, he became the abbot of a well-known monastery. After three years, he retired, changed his identity, and went to a monastery where no one knew him. He requested the job of cleaning the toilets. He spent several years in uninterrupted practice, until one day a disciple from the old monastery recognized him. Lai-kuo begged him to keep his identity a secret, but word quickly spread that he had once been an abbot.

Before anyone could talk to him, he gathered his clothes and left to find another place, because he felt he needed more time to practice. Eventually, people found him again and dragged him back to the monastery.

If it is not people pulling your body from the practice, it is thoughts pulling your mind from the method. Whether you practice in solitude or in a crowd, you must try to isolate your mind. It may seem foolish to isolate yourself, but it works. In society there are many distractions and attachments. As soon as you generate the slightest craving or aversion for anything, obstructions will appear in your practice.

On this retreat, one of my students told me that his cousin recently died of cancer, and that he felt bad. I asked him, "Who is suffering the most from your cousin's death?"

He said, "Probably his mother."

I told him, "Then, instead of wasting time mourning, which is really feeling sorry for yourself, you should use your wisdom from the practice to help ease the misery of your aunt. Also, you should use your method to help transfer merit to your dead cousin, so that he may be reborn in a better place. What good is mourning?" Of course, I would not say this to everyone. Those who have a sound grasp of Buddhadharma and a stable foundation of practice, however, would be able to understand this advice and put it into practice.