I was born in the city of Huian in the Fujian Province of the People's Republic of China. My parents were minor functionaries in the provincial government, eager to get their piece of the proverbial "pie" of power. From the time I was a small child, they encouraged me to abandon the traditions of our ancestors and move towards the "future." I suppose that many children were told this. My grandmother spoke against this attitude, but my parents paid little attention to her and taught me to do the same. Even our teachers at school told us the old ways were foolish - at that time respect for the old was waning, and many young people looked down on their elders rather than respecting them as they should have. It is the same these nights, I have seen.

I remember how I laughed at those who kept the old ways. I remember laughing at the idea that the spirits should be appeased. I didn't believe in spirits; I didn't even believe in an afterlife. I look back on the way I was and feel only shame, for I was so filled with pride when, in truth, I had nothing to be proud of.

I went to university, of course, like all the other good communist boys and girls with a smidgen of intelligence. I graduated in due time and got a job working in the government documents section of a large library in Beijing. I'd long since lost contacts with my parents and home - they didn't fit into my life and I really didn't care by that point. I never realized how fleeting life truly is, and it never occurred to me that my time was running out.

I remember the night I died quite clearly. I remember that the night air was heavy with the scent of salt, and flowers - it was spring. I wasn't paying attention, which was unlike me. But it had been a long day and I just wanted to get home. I should have been more careful. I should have paid attention to who was around me. Hindsight is annoying like that. You always remember what you should have done. At any rate, I didn't notice them until one grabbed my arm.

There were four of them, all male. They were young...or so they seemed to me, anyway. The looks in their eyes made me think they wanted more than just money. The thought sent a chill down my spine. But I was wrong - they only wanted money. And a little fun. I suppose it was the senseless nature of my death that enraged me so. I handed over my purse willingly, but that wasn't enough for them. I suppose that they knew I was an easy target, small as I am. Do not mistake me - I tried to fight back. But four men against one small, unarmed female...the odds were never in my favor. The last thing I remember is an explosion of pain as a boot impacted against my skull.

And then more pain, such as I had never felt before. Yomi is...something I would rather forget. I thought I knew what pain was. I thought I knew what fear was. I was wrong. There are not words to describe what the place is like, and for this I am somehow grateful. Colors...there were many colors. To me, Yomi was red and black with flashes of white, aching light. It was hell, truly. And there was no place to run, or hide, or escape.

But I somehow did, for the next thing I remember is water...and the frightening sensation of being under it. At first I panicked, trying and failing to breathe. I forced my way to the surface, my body still bearing the tattered, rotting remains of my clothing. I was so hungry - I'd never felt anything like it before. I don't remember how I got to shore. I just remember being there and the scent of blood. It was odd how I didn't even care.

It was at about that point that I realized there was a body beneath me. I couldn't even make out the face. After a moment, I realized I'd ripped it off...and that there was blood, pieces of flesh in my mouth. Part of me wanted to scream; the other part was laughing. I finally got enough control over myself to get to my feet, start moving. I didn't make it very far, though.

There was a woman; I could barely hear her over the whispering in my head. I had just noticed that whispering when she arrived. I think she took me for hard of hearing, for she raised her voice. I don't remember exactly what she said - it was something to the effect that she knew what I was, she could help me, etc.

I don't know why I believed her - maybe I was desperate. She took me to a place such as I'd never seen before. There I was taught about what I was - something that should not be. She told me what I could become, for all things have a place under heaven. This was all so new and confusing for me. Why had no one told me of this before? I asked about the voices I kept hearing in my head, and that is how I came to discover my own Dharma and my own purpose, really.

I was a frustrated and frustrating student. Unfamiliar as I was with thinking in mystical terms, I was a constant challenge to my teachers. It was not that I did not try - I tried my best, did more than any of the others. But I was woefully ignorant of many of the things my teachers took for granted that I would understand. For a while, I despaired. I was, however, blessed with one particularly patient teacher who, for some reason, felt I was worth the time he took with me.

I finally began to catch on, bit by bit. I had to really work at grasping what was being given to me one little piece at a time. But I tried, and that alone seemed to make up for my slowness. No one could fault my dedication. Still, my re took much longer than is usual these days.

I understand now that Dharma is a path, one of many. Sometimes I question it, and other times I am so sure that mine is correct that I can almost taste it. I do not pretend to know everything, or even much of anything at all. But I'm learning. Perhaps one day I will know enough.