The ego

The late-night wind blew fiercely and the river water churned. Đằng climbed over the bridge railing and let go, jumping. Suddenly a hand appeared from nowhere, grabbed Đằng by the collar, lifted him as if he weighed nothing and flung him back onto the bridge. Đằng tumbled over a few times, then sat up and looked around. The bridge was deserted, except for a middle-aged man standing and smiling at him. That gentle, mysterious smile suddenly lightened Đằng's heart, and he burst into sobs like a child.
The man stepped over, took Đằng's hand, pulled him to his feet and led him back towards the city. In the distance the city was still ablaze with lights. The man led Đằng into a quiet late-night stall, ordered a glass of milk and a bowl of phở so that Đằng could eat his fill. Then he asked:

• Why did you want to kill yourself?
  Tears welling, Đằng said:
• I no longer want to live. My life is meaningless; I can't do anything.
• Then what do you want to do?
• I want to serve the world, but it seems nobody needs me, and everyone is cruel and scheming, grabbing and competing. I hate life, I hate myself too. I remember Blaise Pascal said "The self is hateful." That fits my state of mind exactly. It seems that only death will end these wretched days.
  The man said:
• Then you have depression. A person with depression has pessimistic thoughts pouring out in their head, and in the end only wants to kill themselves.
• So what should I do? What do I have to do to escape this hateful self?
  The man said:
• Think and answer this question for me: if a prisoner wants to leave prison, what must he do?
  Đằng thought for a moment and said:
• This prisoner cannot break out, because of the risk of being caught again and receiving a heavier sentence. Nor can he kill himself, because that would be losing. The only way left is to live really well, reform himself in an exemplary way, help his fellow prisoners be ethical too so that the prison is a happier place, and thereby get his sentence reduced. Even while still in prison, he suffers less than before, though he must still remember that the prison is not yet his home.
  The man nodded:
• You are very clever. Escaping the ego is the same. We must use that very ego to do things that benefit the world. But even while using that ego, we still know that it is only temporary, not something real. In addition, we must also learn to practise settling the mind. A tranquil mind also lightens the ego.
  Đằng thought for a moment and asked:
• I understand a little of what you say. But I don't know how to practise settling the mind. How do I practise it?
• Go to this address in District 9 and meet Mr Hải, who will show you.
• Yes, but what is your name, sir, so that I can tell Mr Hải you sent me?
• My name is Minh, a friend of Mr Hải. Oh, and Đằng, you must remind yourself every day that you will use this self to live and serve the world, even though the world may be cruel, ungrateful and deceitful. Although you use the self, you still know that it is only temporary and not real. Now go home, so that your parents won't wake up in a panic and look for you. I'm going home too.
• But I haven't told you my name... 🔐

Only in mud can we grow the lotus. Only in suffering can we find happiness. Only right here in this hateful ego can we find non-self. There is nowhere else for us to run and hide. Whatever makes us suffer, we must face it. Whatever makes us sad, we must embrace it. Whatever binds us, we must use it to do good.

A person who can settle the mind is simply abiding and looking back at themselves, following their own breath, being aware of themselves. Here there may be a split into two schools. One turns back and regards this mind as noble, because when the mind is settled it is wonderfully peaceful and joyful. Another school, although it too abides in itself and sees clearly how wonderful that tranquil mind is, still recognises that the "I" in this mind is not real.
To abide in the mind (the ego) while still knowing it is illusory: this is the key to awakening.