Nisargam's Ramblings ☻/

A king went to a Zen master to learn gardening. The master taught him for three years, and the king had a beautiful, big garden — thousands of gardeners were employed there — and whatsoever the master would say, the king would go and experiment in his garden. After three years the garden was absolutely ready, and the king invited the master to come and see the garden. The king was very nervous too, because the master was strict: “Will he appreciate?” — this was going to be a kind of examination — “Will he say, ‘Yes, you have understood me’?”

And every care was taken. The garden was so beautifully complete; nothing was missing. Only then did the king bring the master to see. But the master was sad from the very beginning. He looked around, he moved in the garden from this side to that, he became more and more serious. The king became very frightened. He had never seen him so serious: “Why does he look so sad? Is there something so wrong?”

And again and again the master was nodding his head, and saying inside “No.”

And the king asked, “What is the matter, sir? What is wrong? Why don’t you tell me? You are becoming so serious and sad, and you nod your head in negation. Why? What is wrong? I don’t see anything wrong? This is what you have been telling me, and I have practiced it in this garden.”

The master said, “It is so finished that it is dead. It is so complete — that’s why I am nodding my head and I am saying no. It has to remain unfinished. Where are the dead leaves? Where are the dry leaves? I don’t see a single dry leaf!” All the dry leaves were removed — on the paths there were no dry leaves; in the trees there were no dry leaves, no old leaves which had become yellow. “Where are those leaves?”

And the king said, “I have told my gardeners to remove everything. Make it as absolute as possible.”

And the master said, “That’s why it looks so dull, so manmade. God’s things are never finished.” And the master rushed out, outside the garden. All the dry leaves were heaped: he brought a few dry leaves in a bucket, threw them to the winds, and the wind took them and started playing with the dry leaves, and they started moving on the paths. He was delighted, and he said, “Look, how alive it looks!” And sound had entered with the dry leaves — the music of the dry leaves, the wind playing with the dry leaves. Now the garden had a whisper; otherwise it was dull and dead like a cemetery. That silence was not alive.

It was a dark autumn night. The old banker was walking up and down his study and remembering how, fifteen years before, he had given a party one autumn evening. There had been many clever men there, and there had been interesting conversations. Among other things they had talked of capital punishment. The majority of the guests, among whom were many journalists and intellectual men, disapproved of the death penalty. They considered that form of punishment out of date, immoral, and unsuitable for Christian States. In the opinion of some of them the death penalty ought to be replaced everywhere by imprisonment for life. “I don’t agree with you,” said their host the banker. “I have not tried either the death penalty or imprisonment for life, but if one may judge a priori, the death penalty is more moral and more humane than imprisonment for life. Capital punishment kills a man at once, but lifelong imprisonment kills him slowly. Which executioner is the more humane, he who kills you in a few minutes or he who drags the life out of you in the course of many years?”

“Both are equally immoral,” observed one of the guests, “for they both have the same object - to take away life. The State is not God. It has not the right to take away what it cannot restore when it wants to.”

Among the guests was a young lawyer, a young man of five-and-twenty. When he was asked his opinion, he said:

“The death sentence and the life sentence are equally immoral, but if I had to choose between the death penalty and imprisonment for life, I would certainly choose the second. To live anyhow is better than not at all.”

A lively discussion arose. The banker, who was younger and more nervous in those days, was suddenly carried away by excitement; he struck the table with his fist and shouted at the young man:

“It’s not true! I’ll bet you two million you wouldn’t stay in solitary confinement for five years.”

“If you mean that in earnest,” said the young man, “I’ll take the bet, but I would stay not five but fifteen years.”

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Once there was a great warrior in Japan, a samurai, a very famous swordsman.

One night when he came tired after the whole day’s fight in the fields and he was just going to fall into bed, he saw a rat. And the rat was looking at him ferociously! The samurai tried to kill the rat with his sword. He was one of the best swordsmen known, but somehow he missed. He hit many times, he broke his sword, and he could not kill the rat. He became really afraid: “The rat seems to be very mysterious. This is no ordinary rat!” He started, perspiring — he had never perspired. He had been a fighter his whole life and now a rat had defeated him.

He ran out, asked his wife what to do. The wife said, “You are a fool! You need not kill a rat. Have you ever heard of anybody killing a rat by a sword? You just take our cat inside.” And the cat was brought inside. It was no ordinary cat, it was the great warrior’s cat. She was also trained in many things; she was one of the most famous rat-catchers.

She came with all her art, with all her skill. She tried, but the rat was really extraordinary. He jumped exactly into her eyes! And the cat escaped out. She had never seen such a rat — attacking the cat?! And she was also trembling like the warrior.

The warrior said, “This is too much!”

Then the king’s cat was called. She was a master cat, very well-known all over the country; of course, she was the king’s cat. The king’s cat came and she was also defeated by the rat. She went in, tried hard, used all her skill, but the rat was just too much.

Then the king’s cat suggested a cat she knew who was not famous at all. “You have tried with famous cats, now you try with an ordinary one… just ordinary, plain ordinary.”

The warrior said, “But what can a plain, ordinary cat do?”

The king’s cat said, “You just try. I know this cat. She is so ordinary, she does not know a thing. The whole day she sleeps. But there is one thing about her: cats know, the whole country’s cats know that she is very mysterious. The mysterious thing is that she knows nothing about rats, rat-catching, the art, the technique, the methodology, the philosophy — she knows nothing; she has never been to any school or college or university. She is a plain, ordinary cat, but rats are so afraid of her! Wherever she sleeps… no rat ever enters that house! Just her presence is enough. And she goes on sleeping, and nobody knows when she kills and how she kills.

“Once I went to that cat and I asked, ‘What is your art?’ She simply looked at me, and she had no words to say, and she closed her eyes and went to sleep. And I woke her again and asked, ‘What is your art?’

“She said, ‘I don’t know. I am a cat, that’s enough. A cat is a cat and IS MEANT to catch a rat. What art? What nonsense are you talking about?”’

The cat was brought, and the samurai was not very hopeful because she was really very ordinary, just like any vagabond cat.

She came in, and without any skill she simply went in, caught hold of the rat and brought it out.

All the cats gathered together and asked her, “What is your art?”

And she said, “I don’t know any art. I am a cat! Is not that enough?”

I have heard about an old Zen monk. He was on his deathbed. The last day had come, and he declared that that evening he would be no more. So followers, disciples, friends started coming. He had many lovers. They all started coming. From far and wide people gathered. One of his old disciples, when he heard that the master was going to die, ran to the market. 

Somebody asked: The master is dying in his hut, why are you going to the market? 

The old disciple said: I know that my master loves a particular type of cake, so I am going to purchase the cake.

It was difficult to find the cake, because now it had gone out of fashion, but by the evening somehow he managed. He came running with the cake. And everybody was worried — it was as if the master was waiting for someone. He would open his eyes and look, and close his eyes again. 

And when this disciple came, he said: Okay, so you have come. Where is the cake? The disciple produced the cake — and he was very happy that the master asked about the cake. Dying, the master took the cake in his hand, but his hand was not trembling. He was very old, but his hand was not trembling. So somebody asked: You are so old and just on the verge of dying. The last breath is soon to leave you, but your hand is not trembling? 

The master said: I never tremble, because there is no fear. My body has become old, but I am still young, and I will remain young even when the body is gone. Then he took a bite, started munching the cake. And then somebody asked: What is your last message, Master? You will be leaving us soon. What do you want us to remember?

The master smiled and said: Ah, this cake is delicious.

as told by OSHO.

A martial artist is kneeling before the master sensei in a ceremony to receive a hard-earned black-belt. After years of relentless training, the student has finally reached a pinnacle of achievement in the discipline.  

“Before granting the belt, you must pass one more test,” says the sensei.
“I am ready,”responds the student, expecting perhaps one final round of the sparring.
“You must answer the essential question: What is the true meaning of black belt?”
“The end of my journey,” says the student. “A well deserved reward for all my hard work.”
The sensei waits for more. Clearly, he is not satisfied. Finally, the sensei speaks, “You are not ready for the black belt. Return in one year.”

A Year later, the student kneels again in front of the sensei.
“What is the true meaning of the black belt?”asks the sensei.
“A symbol of distinction and the highest achievement in our art.” says the student.
The sensei says nothing for many minutes, waiting. Clearly, he is not satisfied. Finally, he speaks. “You are still not ready for the black belt. Return in one year.”

A year later, the student kneels once agian in ront of the sensei. And again the sensei asks: “What is the true meaning of the black belt?”
“The black belt represents the beginning - the start of a never-ending journey of discipline, work, and the pursuit of an ever-higher starndard,” says the student.
“Yes. You are now ready to receive the black belt and begin your work.”

The above parable is a beautifully conveyed message to understand, in the right way, our hard earned education, the dedication and efforts that we put in it. 

*taken from book : Built to Last: Successful Habits of Visionary Companies by James C. Collins & Jerry I. Porras

There was a dhobi (washerman), who used many donkeys to carry his load. One day he fell ill and asked his son to load the donkeys and take them with the wash. The boy loaded them and tried to move them towards the river but the donkeys would not budge an inch. Seeing they weren’t tied up at all, he was surprised at what happened and went to ask his father who said, “Oh, I should have told you, in the evening I touch their feet as if I am trying to bind them with a rope, and in the morning touch them again as if I have undone them.” The boy also did this, and then each donkey started to move. The fact is that the donkeys all thought they were not free and therefore they could not walk.

This is the condition of all human beings. The ignorance is illusory and to remove this one must undergo another illusion in order to realize one’s real state; this is essential and we cannot evade it.

“This story happened in the days of Lao Tzu in China, and Lao Tzu loved it very much. […]

There was an old man in a village, very poor, but even kings were jealous of him because he had a beautiful white horse. Such a horse had never been seen before — the beauty, the very grandeur, the strength. Kings asked for the horse and they offered fabulous prices, but the old man would say, ‘This horse is not a horse to me, he is a person, and how can you sell a person? He is a friend, he is not a possession. How can you sell a friend? No, it is not possible.’ The man was poor, there was every temptation, but he never sold the horse.

One morning, he suddenly found that the horse was not in the stable. The whole village gathered and they said, ‘You foolish old man. We knew it beforehand, that some day the horse would be stolen. And you are so poor — how can you protect such a precious thing? It would have been better to sell it. You could have fetched any price you asked, any fancy price was possible. Now the horse is gone. It is a curse, a misfortune.’

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I have heard, just before his death, a billionaire became aware that he had never experienced bliss. He must have been fortunate. Some people become aware only after death. He became aware before death that he had not experienced bliss. Death was close-by. Astrologers said, “There are not many days left, be quick.” He said, “I have been hurrying all my life but where is bliss? And now I have the means to buy it. I am ready to buy it at any cost.” Those astrologers said, “That we do not know. We can only say that hurry because death is close-by. And if you come to know, then let us know also because we will also have to hurry, death is close-by. But he said, “But where should I look for it?” They said, “We don’t know. You just go look for it, anywhere, just look for it.

He climbed his fastest horse. He put diamonds, jewels worth million of rupees on his horse and then going to each and every village started shouting, “If somebody gives me a glimpse of bliss then I am ready to give him all this.”

Then he reached a village, where there was a Sufi fakir. The people of the village said, “You have come to the right place. There is a man in this village who solves this kind of absurd problems.” He said, “Absurd problems!” The people of that village said, “We have also learnt a few absurd things by being in his company. One thing we have learnt, it is quite absurd, absurd because nobody can buy even a glimpse of bliss with money, bliss is very far away. But still you have come, you did right. You have come to the right place. There is such a man in this village.”

That man was searched for. The villagers took the billionaire to him. That Sufi fakir, Nasruddin was sitting under a tree. The sun was setting. The villagers said, “This is that man.” That billionaire threw down his bag full of gold and diamonds, jewels, and said, “I am ready to give all this. There is wealth worth millions in it. I want a glimpse of bliss.” That fakir looked at him from top to bottom. He said, “You want a true glimpse?” He said, “Yes, a true glimpse.” He was able to utter only that much, when the fakir grabbed the bag and ran away. For a moment that rich man stood there dumb-founded and then started crying, “I am ruined, I am dead.” But till then the fakir had gone far away into the darkness. The villagers knew that fakir, that he would do something absurd. They said, “We told you right in the beginning that this is the man who can answer absurd questions.” The rich man said, “Is this an answer !??! Catch him!” The people ran. The rich man also ran. The village was known to that fakir. He started eluding them by running through the alleys. The whole village woke up. He eluded everybody just to wake up the whole village. Then the whole village was running.

Then running he came to the same place, the tree under which the horse was standing. He threw the bag down from where he had picked it up and stood under the tree. The rich man, huffing, puffing, perspiring, reached there. He saw the bag, picked it up, hugged it and said to god, “A great thanks to you!” That fakir said from behind the tree, “Did you get a glimpse?” The rich man said, “Yes, I definitely did. I experienced great bliss.” That fakir said, “So now get on your horse and go.”

A Sufi is on a sea voyage and a king is also on the same boat; he has a servant. One day the sea is very dangerous and it seems that any moment the boat can sink. The servant is in a panic – crying, weeping, shouting ’Save me!’ and praying to god and almost going mad. The king says to him ’Don’t be afraid. I am also here and so many people are here – if we are all going to die, we are all going to die, not only you.’ But he is not in a state to listen.

The Sufi mystic is listening to the whole thing, watching, and he says ’If you give me a chance I can put him right,’ and the king says ’Do anything!’

So the Sufi and his two or three disciples take the man up and throw him into the sea! Of course he shouts more loudly in the sea: ’Save me! Take me out of it!’

For a few minutes he is left there and then the Sufi and the disciples rescue him and carry him back into the ship; now he is very calm and quiet. He sits very silently, and he is very happy that he has been saved.

The king is surprised but the mystic says ’This is a simple application of a general law: People understand the beauty of something only when they have lost it.’

Once an emperor went to visit a Zen monk. When the emperor reached to the monk’s place the monk was digging a pit in his garden. Emperor politely said to zen monk “I am here to learn some knowledge from you.” Zen monk said “Very well, then sit down, look and learn.”. Emperor sat down and zen monk continued digging the pit. Zen monk didn’t say anything for long time but just continued digging the pit.

After sometime emperor got frustrated and said “Will you please say something ?”. Zen monk replied “Look carefully, I am not there, only digging of pit is there. Only digging of pit is happening I am nowhere. I am so totally involved in digging this pit that there is no need to separate me. ‘I am digging the pit’ saying this is wrong, ‘I have become the action of digging the pit’ only saying this is proper. You also become the action of looking. Please don’t think about when I will speak then what will I be speaking and when you understand what you will be understanding, you please do me a favour and you become the action of looking here.”

The emperor said “This is very hard. Only looking? I have to return back also.” Monk answered “Then return back. But then totally become returning back.” Emperor said “But I have to ask you some question also.”  Monk said “Then ask. Then completely become the question.”

I have heard about a great warrior in Japan, a samurai, a very famous swordsman: One night when he came tired after the whole day’s fight in the fields and he was just going to fall into bed, he saw a rat. And the rat was looking at him ferociously! The samurai tried to kill the rat with his sword. He was one of the best swordsmen known, but somehow he missed. He hit many times, he broke his sword, and he could not kill the rat. He became really afraid: ”The rat seems to be very mysterious. This is no ordinary rat!”

He started, perspiring – he had never perspired. He had been a fighter his whole life and now a rat had defeated him. He ran out, asked his wife what to do. The wife said, ”You are a fool! You need not kill a rat. Have you ever heard of anybody killing a rat by a sword? You just take our cat inside.” And the cat was brought inside. It was no ordinary cat, it was the great warrior’s cat. She was also trained in many things; she was one of the most famous rat-catchers. She came with all her art, with all her skill.

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A lioness was pregnant and she jumped from one hillock to another hillock and gave birth to a kid, which fell on the ground in a crowd of sheep.

This small lion was brought up by the sheep, although he became a lion. Naturally he mixed with the sheep, lived with the sheep, behaved like a sheep. He had no idea, not even in his dreams, that he is a lion. How could he have? All around him were sheep and more sheep. He had never roared like a lion; a sheep does not roar. He had never been alone like a lion; a sheep is never alone. She is always in the crowd — the crowd is cozy, secure, safe. If you see sheep walking, they walk so close together that they are almost stumbling on each other. They are so afraid to be alone.

But the lion started growing up. It was a strange phenomenon. He was identified mentally with being a sheep, but biology does not go according to your identification; nature is not going to follow you.

He became a beautiful young lion, but because things happened so slowly the sheep also became accustomed to the lion while the lion was becoming accustomed to the sheep. The sheep thought he is a little crazy, naturally. And although sheep or lions don’t have mirrors, they felt that something was weird with this sheep- too long, too big, but there was no trouble. He’s not behaving — a little cuckoo — and he goes on growing. It is not supposed to be so. And pretending to be a lion, but he is not a lion. They have seen him from his very birth, they have brought him up, they have given their milk to him. And he was a non-vegetarian by nature — no lion is vegetarian, but this lion was vegetarian because sheep are vegetarian. He used to eat grass with great joy.

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Shah Firoz, who is remembered as the teacher of many very distinguished sufis, was often asked why he did not teach them faster.

He said, ‘Because even the most dedicated will, until a certain point of understanding, not be teachable at all. He is here in the flesh, but absent in every other way.’

He also recited this tale.

There was once a king who wanted to become a sufi. The sufi whom he approached about the matter said, ‘Majesty, you cannot study with the elect until you can overcome heedlessness.’

‘Heedlessness!’ said the king. ‘Am I not heedful of my religious obligations? Do I not look after the people? Whom can you find in all my realm who has a complaint against me on the grounds of heedlessness?’

‘That is precisely the difficulty,’ said the sufi. ‘Because heedfulness is so marked in some things, people imagine that it must be a part of their texture.’

‘I cannot understand that sort of remark,’ said the king, ‘And perhaps you will regard me as unsuitable because I cannot fathom your riddles.’

‘Not at all, ’ said the sufi, ‘But a would-be disciple cannot really have a debate with his prospective teacher. Sufis deal in knowledge, not in argument. But I will give you a demonstration of your heedlessness, if you will carry out a test and do what I ask in respect to it.’

The king agreed to take the test, and the sufi told him to say ‘I believe you’ to everything which should be said to him in the ensuing few minutes.

‘If that is a test, it is easy enough to start becoming a sufi,’ said the king.

Now the sufi started the test.

He said: ‘I am a man from beyond the skies.’
‘I believe you,’ said the king.

The sufi continued: ‘Ordinary people try to gain knowledge, sufis have so much that they try not to use it.’
‘I believe you,’ said the king.

Then the sufi said: ‘I am a liar.’
‘I believe you,’ said the king.

The sufi went on: ‘I was present when you were born.’
‘I believe you,’ said the king.

‘And your father was a peasant,’ said the sufi.
‘That is a lie!’ shouted the king.

The sufi looked at him sorrowfully and said: ‘Since you are so heedless that you cannot for one minute remember to say “I believe you” without some prejudice coming into play, no sufi would be able to teach you anything.’