One Sea, One Temple, One Bodhi: A Spring Trip to Mount Putuo

The long-awaited pilgrimage to Mount Putuo that my mother had been talking about for years finally took place this spring. Leading a small group of silver-haired elders, we set off. We had originally planned to arrive on the island yesterday, but the Zhoushan Archipelago was suddenly hit by a fierce storm. Fortunately, a friend informed us in advance that the Putuo Island ferry service was suspended, so we changed our route to Dongqian Lake. Today, the weather was kind; although the wind was still strong, the warm sun accompanied us, perfectly fulfilling my mother’s wish that “sincerity brings blessings.” The tour guide said that due to the ferry suspension yesterday, as many as thirty to forty thousand tourists were stranded. This morning, the queue at the pier was unprecedented, winding from the waiting hall all the way to the roadside, and it took more than two hours to board. We deliberately avoided the peak time, visiting Guanyin Dharma Realm in the morning, and arriving at Zhujiajian Pier at three in the afternoon when the crowd had thinned. The sea breeze, carrying a salty tang, blew against our faces, tousling our hair, but it could not diminish everyone’s anticipation of setting foot on the island. After a fifteen-minute boat ride, the sign for “Centipede Islet Pier” came into view. The hotel shuttle bus was already waiting, and in less than five minutes, through the window, we caught a glimpse of the pure white eaves hidden among green trees—that was the “Refusing to Leave Guanyin Temple.” The guide told us the story: during the Tang Dynasty, the Japanese monk Hui’e brought a statue of Guanyin from Mount Wutai to China. When he reached Mount Putuo, he encountered storms and was unable to continue, so he left the statue and built a temple. The name “Refusing to Leave” comes from this story. This brief glimpse felt like touching the source of Mount Putuo’s thousand-year incense, a quiet power filled with compassion. After settling in at Baotuo Lodge, my family and I went out to scout the route for tomorrow’s early morning prayers. Walking along the road, the dense shade of camphor trees cast dappled patterns on the ground, cherry blossoms and azaleas scattered petals on the stone path, and the sea breeze carried faint Buddhist chants. After about ten minutes, the yellow walls and dark tiles of Puji Temple appeared among the greenery. The square in front of the temple was bustling with people, but it did not disturb the ancient temple’s tranquility—the silver waves shimmered on the beach of Baibu Sand, the sea gently lapping the shore, blending with the tinkling of the temple’s copper bells into a melody. We did not enter the temple but strolled around, watching worshippers praying with hands clasped, listening to monks chanting sutras, and suddenly feeling that even the breath between sea and sky was imbued with Zen. As dusk deepened, we returned, the mountain breeze carrying faint incense. The lights of Puji Temple gradually lit up, and the full moon hung high in the sky, its clear light shining on the temple’s eaves, enhancing the feeling of “the purest place on earth.” The salty sea breeze brushed past our ears, as if telling the story of Mount Putuo’s thousand years of unchanged compassion and gentleness—this is not only a sacred place for believers but also a harbor of peace for city dwellers. Late at night, the sounds of insects and waves outside the window played a lullaby. Tomorrow morning, with the most sincere hearts, we will set out on the path of worship in the morning light, hoping that this spiritual place where sea and sky meet will hear every heartfelt prayer.