Guan Yin

The eyes on the hands means she’s open to a thousand viewpoints so she can identify—and identify with—the specific individual whose cries she hears. She’s able to see things exactly the way the suffering individual does. Then she offers her compassionate hand to provide exactly what that person needs for relief.

 

By David Jones

I have a couple of statues of the Bodhisattva Guan Yin.

Bodhisattvas are kind of like Catholic Patron Saints, or deities with a focus such as Thor the God of Thunder and Lightning. Guan Yin (a.k.a. Avalokitesvara) has many forms that focus on compassion—but the one that resonates strongest: Thousand Hand Thousand Eye Guan Yin.

Her Bodhisattva vow was to relieve suffering lifetime after lifetime and not fall into despair, but this wasn’t just about Earth. After she helped people here, she moved into the Heavens to relieve the suffering of the gods and goddesses and exalted beings.

She descended into the Hells to relieve all the suffering there. Now, that’s a full work day! Some might argue that devils and demons and those in Hell should suffer. But Guan Yin didn’t worry about why they were in Hell; she wanted to relieve their suffering anyway.

Now, one day she looked back to the earth and saw that things were worse than ever!

She began to despair, crashing back to the earth where she shattered into a thousand pieces. Her teacher, Amitabha Buddha, realized she was the one suffering now because she broke her vow, but all she asked was to be allowed to resume her work.

He fashioned her a new form, where the thousand pieces became a thousand arms, each with a hand, and each hand had an eye in its palm. Why is this her ultimate form for me?

Some say it means she’s better equipped to see need and lend aid. But for me it means she understands suffering isn’t one-size-fits-all, and relief shouldn’t be either. No, we all suffer uniquely, even to identical things. I might even suffer from something that doesn’t bother you at all.

The eyes on the hands means she’s open to a thousand viewpoints so she can identify—and identify with—the specific individual whose cries she hears. She’s able to see things exactly the way the suffering individual does. Then she offers her compassionate hand to provide exactly what that person needs for relief.

She strove to relieve the suffering of all: Folks who brought suffering upon themselves.

Relief for the people who made bad decisions, maybe even people that we don’t think deserve relief. She didn’t discriminate. She didn’t decide who deserved relief and who didn’t. She didn’t praise or condemn. She merely offered relief and compassion to all who suffered. This is so different from how people see and act in this age of punitive compassion.

Friends shouldn’t suffer, but enemies should. We attach conditions to our compassion. We decide who deserves it and who doesn’t (unfortunately, I do these things sometimes).

A dream drove all this home for me.

In the dream, I was something I abhor—a man who abuses women. As this guy, I didn’t want to face the consequences of my crimes, so I ran. I jumped in my car, started it, and threw it into gear. But as I started driving, I was suddenly a different man in another car filled with the abused women. Now I was chasing the abuser, making sure he couldn’t just escape the women he hurt.

I wanted to do what Guan Yin did: relieve suffering for any and all, in Heaven and Hell and everywhere in between, with specific insight and awareness of what was needed. How could I help the abused women? I’d have to start by hearing their voices, seeing things from their perspective. Maybe I could be a partner in their relief. But what about the abuser?

I think people sometimes misunderstand what suffering and compassion actually involve.

It’s not about letting anyone “get away with it.” It’s not making people feel better or shielding them from consequences. This abuser needs to face the music. He probably needs therapy in prison to stop his abusive cycle. He needs to know that his suffering will only grow if he keeps running.

Forgiveness wasn’t Guan Yin’s concern, nor was guilt and punishment. That’s all up to others. Her sole focus—for humans, gods, and devils alike—was to identify and relieve their suffering. And that starts with listening to their cries and seeing through their eyes.

Maybe the person hollering about gun rights is actually scared of being helpless to defend his loved ones in such a dangerous world. They’re probably just as upset about children dying in school shootings as most of us. Fighting about it just increases suffering.

Maybe the person hollering about abortion rights is actually fed up with men in authority always making women’s decisions for them like women were somehow incapable. They value the sanctity of life as do most of us. Giving them a Bible Beating just increases suffering.

What could we solve if we stopped clinging to our outrage and desire to win fights? We can become so mesmerized by our own suffering we neglect that of others.

Of course, people who speak, think, and act from a place of deep pain might be unsafe to approach at all. Many today just want to lash out in their misery. Engaging them could hurt us. Be compassionate, but be wise about it. Some dogs snap at anyone who gets close.

Guan Yin’s eyed hands can identify who’s blindly thrashing about in pain and should be kept at arm’s length. Metta might be best offered at a safe distance. And if we can’t see how to help, at least we shouldn’t make things worse. Sometimes, compassion is just staying away.

Here’s my last story.

In India, Avalokitesvara was male. When he came to China as Guan Yin, he remained male for a hundred years or two until he became she. One day a student asked her: “Why are you now a woman?” Guan Yin replied: “Why does it matter?” She explained she would appear in whatever form and gender best let her ease the suffering of the person in her care.

Non-judgmental relief from suffering.

Approaching those in need in a “form” that doesn’t threaten or anger them. Finding compassion on common ground. And if I fail my vow, I can pull myself back together and get back to it. This is what Thousand Hand Thousand Eye Guan Yin teaches me.
 

Photo: Wikimedia Commons

Editor: Dana Gornall

 

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