In the anthill of a vast monastery, there was an old, discr…

In the anthill of a vast monastery, there was an old, discreet, humble monk, a non-ranking monk, an obscure among the obscure, a bit eccentric. His colleagues considered him to be ignorant, coupled with an enlightened person in the common sense, and not Buddhist, a simpleton.

It must be said that despite all the years spent in the shadow of the monastery walls, he did not shine with his erudition. The veteran indeed shunned reading sacred texts and, in the summer, spent most of his time at the edge of a pond dotted with lotuses, lulled by the murmur of the wind, the chanting of insects and the song of birds. He meditated there distractedly sitting on a rock, under the monumental parasol of an old tree.

On a beautiful summer afternoon bathed in sunshine, a group of young monks set off to tour the pond. It was then that they were able to observe with amazement the very disjointed way that the old man had of meditating. Not five minutes went by without him leaning over to disturb the liquid mirror with a twig.

He would sometimes even get up to take a few steps with a branch in his hand, with which he pulled a tree leaf out of the water. His curious antics made his juniors laugh and they undertook to give him a lesson on meditation.

“Wouldn’t it be better to meditate with your eyes closed so as not to be distracted by the spectacle of the world?”

“How can you hope to attain a high spiritual realization if you are constantly moving? You cannot stabilize your mind or let the prana circulate harmoniously in the subtle channels.”

“That’s right, take the example of the Buddha who obtained supreme Awakening by remaining motionless under the tree of enlightenment.”

The old monk bowed to thank them for their advice and, while showing them an insect that he had just fished out with a twig, he said to them, a disarming smile on his lips:

“You are probably right, my young brothers. But how can I meditate serenely if there are living beings drowning around me?”

The group of cadets remained taken aback. There was a long silence and then one of them, experienced in metaphysical jousts and wanting to save face at all costs, replied:

“You should retire to a cave to devote yourselves to your own salvation. Don’t worry too much about the fate of others. Let the natural order of the world take its course. Everyone reaps the results of their previous actions. Such is the law of karma.”

And, with these sententious words, the lesson-givers wrapped themselves in their monastic robes and walked away. They reached a footbridge that spanned the pond. It was then that, in the middle of the crossing, one of them slipped on a mossy board and fell into the water.

The unfortunate man, who was none other than the karmic orator, was wading among the water lilies, visibly drowning. The pond was deep at this point. There was general panic, none of the monks knew how to swim.

The old eccentric, his tireless smile on his lips, jumped up, took a branch and, as it was not long enough, he began to walk on the water. Under the astonished gaze of the young monks, he hooked the candidate for drowning and pulled him to the bank without even wetting the hems of his patched robe.

The miraculous story went around the monastery. The old man was now considered a saint, a hidden bodhisattva, a living Buddha. He took offense at this because he could not bear to be an object of devotion. He went to another province where he hid in the anthill of a vast monastery.