The Six Realms of Compassion: A Pilgrimage to Chilin Nunnery and Nan Lian Garden
The air is still, yet the spirit remains restless. Welcome to Zephyr’s spiritual transmission.
It is Monday, the 6th of April. While the city below remains entangled in the relentless pursuit of the secular, I find no sanctuary in the noise of the crowd. True clarity is not found in the bustle of the streets, but in the deliberate silence of the soul. This spiritual blog post is a reflection on a recent visit to the Chi Lin Nunnery and the adjacent Nan Lian Garden in Diamond Hill—a pilgrimage to a place where the fire of discipline meets the grace of the heavens.
The world often mistakes my distance for coldness, but like the bhiksuni (Buddhist nuns) who reside there, I simply prefer a landscape where the architecture speaks louder than the ego.
The Garden of Lingering Echoes
I did not go alone. I was joined by a former classmate from my time at HKU’s Master of Buddhist Studies programme, Cyun-Sing (傳誠). She is a woman who has traded the chaos of secular life for the rhythmic chanting of the halls. As we walked through the Nan Lian Garden (南蓮園池), the contrast was striking. Just minutes away sits Plaza Hollywood—a monument to consumerism and ostentation—yet within these wooden gates, the air changes.
Cyun-Sing is a bhiksuni of this sanctuary, and she led me through the Tang-style timber structures with the grace of one who has mastered her internal fires. Because I was immersed in her wisdom and insight into the nunnery’s myriad Buddha and Bodhisattva statues, I neglected my duties to the lens. I took no photos of the Buddha Halls or the sacred galleries.
That was entirely my own failing. Perhaps it was a subconscious choice; some things are meant to be felt with spiritual vision rather than captured on a silicon chip. Prior to our public stroll, Cyun-Sing granted me a rare privilege. She led me into a sealed-off, private area of the nunnery—a space of profound stillness away from the wandering tourists. There, amidst the faint scent of sandalwood, she allowed me a moment to offer incense. I prayed deeply for the success of this new chapter under the name Zephyr, as well as for the continued prosperity, health, and wellbeing of my family, friends, and those I hold dear.
The Six Forms of Compassion
The most striking portion of our private tour was the Hall of Avalokitesvara, dedicated to Guanyin. Inside, one is met by the presence of six distinct statues of the Bodhisattva, each representing a specific path of salvation for the six realms of transmigration. Cyun-Sing explained how each form reaches out to a different state of suffering: from the heavenly beings distracted by pleasure to the hungry ghosts consumed by desire, and even to those in the depths of the hell realms. Seeing them standing in silent vigil reminded me that compassion is not a singular, soft emotion; it is a multifaceted tool, sharp and adaptive. It mirrored the discipline I strive to maintain within myself—a readiness to meet any challenge with the appropriate force of spirit.
After leaving the dim, golden light of the halls, Cyun-Sing led me back out into the brightness of the garden. We eventually made our way to the pottery exhibition titled “The Joy of Chashan Kiln Ceramic Works Exhibition.” It was a masterclass in focused intent. As I walked past the displays, I noticed a peculiar consistency in the explanation placards. There were only two names repeated throughout the entire gallery, as the exhibition featured the work of only two dedicated artists. Their mastery over the earth and flame was evident in every curve of the clay. It reinforced my belief that true excellence comes from a narrow, unwavering focus rather than scattered efforts.
The Architecture of the Mind
One cannot visit Chi Lin without reflecting on the Tang Dynasty aesthetic. It is precise. It is deliberate. It is an external manifestation of strictness. The dark wood and gold accents remind me that beauty is not found in excess, but in the perfect alignment of purpose. As I watched the koi swim in the ponds of the Nan Lian Garden, I practiced meditative concentration. I contemplated the “Zephyr”—the gentle wind that carries the scent of incense. A wind can be soft like a prayer, or it can fan a spark into a cleansing wildfire. I am learning to be both.
I spent awhile in contemplation prior to even reaching out to Cyun-Sing. I needed to ensure my internal temple was swept clean before engaging with hers. In this city of seven million, finding a pocket of serenity is a tactical necessity. If the mind is cluttered with the noise of the world, how can one hear the whisper of the stars?
The fire within me burns steady today. I hope you, too, find a moment to step away from the bustling city and find your own center.
Until the wind shifts again.
— Zephyr Chan
