High Spirit Magazine
By: Dechan Jueren

Up until now, my life has not been easy. I have experienced every kind of suffering, which has resulted in my body having 27 knife scars and twobullet scars. I have died many times! And in that hazy state of death, an old mysterious
man would always appear to save me and bring me back to life.
The first time I died was when I was six years old; I fell into a river and drowned. Villagers found my body downstream and recognized me as the son of a Traditional
Chinese Medicine doctor. My father was working at the neighbouring town when he was told the news. It was a moonless night and he had to walk 12 miles over an old
battlefield known by the locals to be haunted and infested with wild animals; none of the villagers would dare venture through that area at night.
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Maui Time Weekly
By: Corey Nielsen

All over Maui we are reminded of the costs of greed and exploitation. Monolithic hotels dominate what were once sacred and beautiful lands. Traffic congests our roads and businesses, causing impatience and resentment towards our neighbors. The few natives that remain fight to keep alive the memory of their culture and heritage, while those most responsible for their exploitation drive shiny new Benzes, Beemers and Hummers, blissfully ignorant of the damages done. In this culture of increasing frustration, it gives hope that a man such as Master Yu Tian Jian still exists.
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Toronto Star

By: Janice Mahwhinney

Yu Tian Jian, regarded in China as a living Buddha, is padding around the kitchen of a small house in west Oakville in his stocking feet. The Chinese Buddhist high master is about to have breakfast when a reporter and photographer arrive on time for a scheduled interview & photo shoot.

...Yu embodies the spiritual maxim about living in the moment. He is absolutely present in whatever is going on right now. He enjoys giving it his full attention.

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In Light Times
By: Dan Kendall

The smell of coal smoke hangs lightly in the air, and my feet crunch in the cold snow. Wishing I had worn another layer, I roll up the collar of my light winter coat to cover my neck. The streets are deserted and although it is black with darkness, snowflakes can be seen falling in the light of the street lamps. It is new year’s morning in Beijing, China. Chinese New Year falls on the first new moon of the lunar calendar, usually around the end of January or early February. I have been in China for about a month, living and traveling with Buddhist Master Dechan Jueren.

As we arrive at the back of the Yong He Gong Lamasery (Palace of Harmony or Beijing Lama Temple), the large green gates swing wide and we are graciously invited to enter by a tall young lama with bright red and yellow robes. His giant ridged yellow hat gives him the illusion of being eight feet tall, but maybe I am only sensing the stature of his spirit.
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The Laughing Buddha
By: Leonard Kalina

When I was a teenager in 1950's Brooklyn I collected photos of famous men; writers, artists, philosophers and visionaries. To fit in my collection their faces had to show character, wisdom and nobility. They had to transcend the ordinary.

I'd open my scrapbook and gaze at Dylan Thomas, his ruddy face transported as he declaimed his verse; Albert Einstein, hair flying as he attacked his blackboard; Picasso, his eyes ablaze as his brush flew across the canvas.

The struggle of each of these men to live an authentic life had left deep imprints on their faces. They did not shrink or disappear before the eye of the camera as I did. I could hear them whisper. "Go deeper. Seek an authentic life."
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