the life of meditative

this if fact of our life and truth of universe.

Buda Courtesan and lustful Monk

Once there lived a Courtesan of incomparable beauty. She was glad to have the monks come by her home for alms, and offered them excellent food. Then one day, one of the monks who had gone to her home for almsfood happened to mention how beautiful she was.

This stirred desire in the heart of one of the young monks listening. The next morning, the young monk joined the group that was going to pass by the courtesan’s house on their almsround.

The courtesan happened to be ill that day, but she bid her servants carry her outside so that she could personally offer the monks something to eat. The young monk, on seeing how beautiful she was even when she was sick, developed an even stronger desire for her.

That night, however, her illness worsened and by morning she was already dead. When the Buddha received the news of her death, he advised that she not be buried for a few days, after which time he told his bhikkhus that he was going to take them to see the courtesan.

When the young bhikkhu heard where they were going, his lust for the courtesan was rekindled. What he did not realize, however, was that the courtesan was already dead. By the time the Buddha and his retinue of monks got to the cemetary, the once beautiful and desirable body of the courtesan had already been transformed into an ugly sight.

Her body was now bloated, and foul matter exuded from every which orifice. The Buddha then announced to all who had gathered there that the courtesan would be auctioned off. Anyone who was willing to pay a thousand pieces of gold could spend the night with her in bed.

Of course, nobody was willing to pay that amount, nor were they willing to pay any other price, no matter how small. In the end no one would take her even for free. The Buddha then said to his bhikkhus, “You see, when she was alive, few would hesitate to give up all they had just to be able to spend one night in her embrace. But, now, none will take her even for free. What is beauty, then, when the body is subject to deterioration and decay?”

After listening to the Buddha’s words, the lustful young monk got to realize the true nature of life and strove to free himself from the hold of sensual desire.

Look at this beautiful body, amass of sores, supported by bones, sickly, a subject of many lustful thoughts. Indeed, the body is neither permanent nor enduring.

The Cloth Baby

As more and more people became attracted to the Buddha and his teachings, the ascetics of other religions became very jealous and schemed to ruin his reputation. They asked a not uncomely young female follower of theirs to help them carry out their plan.

One day, as evening fell, the young woman started to walk in the direction of the monastery where the Buddha was staying, but in fact went and stayed at the jealous ascetics’ place for the night. Early the next morning as she returned home, her curious neighbors asked her where she had been.

She misled them to think that she had spent the night with the Buddha. After a few months had passed, she began to wrap some cloth around her stomach to look pregnant, and as the months went by, she kept adding more cloth until she really looked like she was about ready to give birth.

She also beat up her hands and feet until they became swollen and pretended to be feeling tired as real pregnant women do. Looking like that she went to accuse the Buddha. The Buddha was in the middle of giving a discourse when she arrived, holding her stomach to accentuate her condition.

Seeing him preaching, she confronted him and said, “Instead of shooting your mouth off like that, you should be taking care of me and your baby! Now that you have had your fun, you are no longer interested!”

The Buddha let her finish speaking and then said calmly, “Only you and I know if your words are true or not.”
“You’re right!” she scoffed.

“No one else could see what we were doing in the…” Before she could finish her sentence, the strings holding the bundle of cloth around her stomach loosened and the “baby” fell down to her feet. Those in the congregation then realized that the woman had been lying.

They scolded her severely and called her a wicked woman, a liar, and a cheat. Afraid that they would do her harm, she ran away as fast as her legs could carry her. She did not get very far, however, when she met with an unhappy mishap and died miserably.

The next day when the bhikkhus sat talking about the unfortunate woman, the Buddha told them, “Bhikkhus, he who is not afraid to tell lies and does not care what happens in his future lifetimes, won’t hesitate to do any evil.”

For one who transgresses the truth and is given to lying and who is unconcerned with the next life, there is no evil that he cannot do.

The Innocent Monk

Once there was a Gem Polisher whose family offered almsfood to a certain monk every day. One morning as the monk was entering their house to accept his almsfood, a messenger from the king’s palace arrived with a giant ruby for the gem polisher to work on.

As the gem polisher had been in the kitchen handling some raw meat when the messenger arrived, the stone was wet with blood when he put it on a table before going into the kitchen to get some food for the monk.

Their pet bird, in the meantime, thinking that the blood-stained ruby was something to eat, picked it up and swallowed it before the monk could prevent it from doing so. When the gem polisher came back into the room, he immediately noticed that the ruby was gone.

He asked his wife and son, and then the monk, if they had taken it, but they all said no. The gem polisher assumed it must have been the monk since he was the last one seen in the room with the ruby.

He decided to beat the truth out of the monk, but his wife, would not let him do it. She warned him that the consequences of causing harm to a noble one would be worse than the punishment he could possibly receive from the king.

The gem polisher, however, was too furious to listen to his wife. He tied up the monk and beat him severely until blood started flowing from his head. Attracted by the sight of the blood, the curious bird flew toward the monk, where it received a stray blow and fell dead. Only then, did the monk tell the gem polisher that it was the bird that had swallowed the ruby.

The gem polisher quickly cut open the bird and found that the monk was indeed telling him the truth. Realizing his mistake, he trembled with fear and pleaded for the monk’s forgiveness. The monk replied that he felt no ill will toward him for it was a debt that had to be repaid due to mistakes in his past lives.

The monk then succumbed to his wounds and died, passing away into Parinibbana since he was already an arahat. When the gem polisher himself died, he was reborn in hell. As for his wife, she was reborn in one of the deva worlds.

Some are reborn as human beings, the wicked are reborn in hell, the righteous are reborn in heaven, and those free from defilements pass away into Nibbana.

Law of Kamma

King Suppabuddha was indeed not an admirer of the Buddha. He had not forgotten how the Buddha, while he was still a prince, had abandoned his beloved daughter Yasodhara for the renunciant’s life.

One day, knowing that the Buddha and his disciples would be entering the city for almsfood, the king got drunk, and the wine in his veins made him brave enough to go and block the Buddha’s way.

He would not let the Buddha pass, saying that he, the king, could not make way for someone younger than he was. Not protesting, the Buddha and his disciples turned back. King Suppabuddha then ordered one of his men to spy on the Buddha and report back to him whatever the Buddha said.

Once back at their monastery, the Buddha said to Ananda, “The king has created bad kamma by blocking the way of the Buddha and soon he will have to pay for it.”
This was reported to the king who became determined to prove that the Buddha didn’t know what he was talking about.

He commanded all of his attendants and guards to be extra vigilant in protecting him, while he himself would take special precautions. The news of the king’s increased efforts to protect himself from harm reached the monastery where the Buddha was staying. The Buddha said that it didn’t matter whether the king lived in a tower, in the sky, in an ocean, or in a cave, because he couldn’t escape the result of his kamma. Nobody could.

Several days after the road incident, the king was sitting in his room when he heard his favorite horse neighing and kicking about wildly. He became so worried that he immediately went to see what the matter was, forgetting what the Buddha had predicted for him. As he rushed out of his room, he tripped and fell down some stairs and died.

When he was reborn, he was reborn in hell. So no matter how hard he tried, the foolish king was unable to escape the effects of his evil kamma. That is how the law of kamma works.

Not in the sky, nor in the middle of the ocean, nor in the cave of a mountain, nor anywhere else, is there a place where one cannot be overcome by Death.

The Wise Merchant

Once there was a Prosperous Merchant who did not mind travelling long distances in order to deliver his merchandise to faithful buyers. Robbers got a wind of this and soon were trying to capture his carts loaded with fine and expensive goods. The merchant, however, was a clever man and each time succeeded in thwarting their plans.

On one of his journeys, the merchant learned that some monks were going to be travelling in the same direction, so he invited them to accompany him and promised to look after their every need along the way.

No one was aware at the time, however, that some robbers had already heard of the merchant’s trip and planned to ambush his caravan as it passed through a certain forest.

The wise merchant, in the meantime, made wary by past experiences, suspected something was amiss as they approached the forest. So instead of entering it, he decided to set up camp just outside its edge and stay there for a few days.

Later, when he learned what the robbers were up to, he decided that for the safety of his travelling companions and his goods, it would be best to abort the trip and return home. When news of this reached the ears of the robbers, they went and lay in wait for the merchant on the road back to the city.

But the wise merchant also had his own scouts who came back and warned him of the robbers’ strategy. The merchant then decided to stay in a village where he had good friends and not budge for a few more days.

Upon hearing about the merchant’s new plan, the monks decided to cut short their trip and return to their monastery. When they arrived there, they told the Buddha how their trip was complicated by robbers who aimed at looting the merchant’s caravan and how the wise merchant outsmarted them each time.

The Buddha replied by telling them that the merchant was a wise man, for he evaded a journey beset with robbers like someone who did not want to die evaded poison. In the same way, the Buddha taught, a wise person who realizes that existence is like a journey beset with dangers, does his best to keep away from doing evil.

Just as a wealthy merchant with few attendants avoids a dangerous road, or just as one who desires to go on living avoids poison, even so should one shun evil.

The Ungrateful Sons

Once there wass an old man who was very well off, and when his four sons got married, he gave each of them a generous portion of his wealth as a wedding present. Then his wife died, and although his sons affectionately looked after him after that, they did so with a devious ulterior motive: they wanted to possess the rest of his fortune. And they finally succeeded, leaving their aging father with hardly a cent left to his name.

Unable to manage by himself, the father went to stay at his eldest son’s home. Not more than a few days later, however, he was driven out by his nagging daughter-in-law who did not want to have anything to do with an unwelcomed “burden” in her household. To add insult to injury, his ungrateful son raised no objection to his wife’s doing.

The poor old man was to receive the same mean hospitality at the house of each of his other three sons. Helpless and miserable, the father went to seek solace and advice from the Buddha, with nothing but a staff and a bowl that he could call his own. After the old man recounted how his sons had mistreated him, the Buddha told him how to go about teaching his greedy and ungrateful sons a lesson.

The Buddha instructed him to say the following words whenever he found
himself in a crowd of people: “My greedy sons are deceitful and unkind. They call me father but do not understand the meaning of the word. Now that I have given them all of my wealth, they have let their wives drive me out of their houses and treat me like a beggar.

Alas, I can depend more on this old and crooked staff of mine than I can on my own four sons!” As advised by the Buddha, the old man went about announcing the cause of his wretched condition whenever he came across an assembly of people.

Then one day he came upon a crowd in which his ungrateful sons were also present. When he had finished his plaintive announcement, the people listening to him were filled with pity. Their pity, however, turned into rage once they realized that the very sons the old man was complaining about were among them.

The sons had to flee for their lives. When they were sure they were out of danger, the sons sat down and discussed their poor father’s situation. They ashamedly admitted that they indeed had been ungrateful and disloyal to a father who had always been but good and generous to them.

Filled with remorse, they went to look for their father, and finding him, asked for his forgiveness. They also promised that they would look after him and respect and honor him as a father should be. They also warned their wives to take good care of their father or else they would be in great trouble indeed.

One day, the eldest son invited the Buddha to his house for a meal at which time the Buddha gave a sermon on the merits that one gains by tending to the welfare of one’s parents. He included in his sermon the story of Dhanapala, an elephant who cared so much for his parents that when he got caught, was unable to eat because he was so worried about them.

Bilalapadaka, The Selfish Rich Man

One if the Men in Bilalapadaka’s neighborhood liked to do charitable deeds. One day, he arranged to have the Buddha and his disciples over to his house for a meal. Being a generous person, he wished to give everyone a chance to share the joy and merit of giving and so invited all of his neighbors to join in, even the rich but selfish Bilalapadaka.

The day before the merit-making event was to take place, the promoter of charity bustled from house to house, happily collecting whatever food his neighbors wished to contribute toward the meal.

Bilalapadaka, upon seeing his neighbor going around for donations, softly cursed under his breath, “What a miserable fellow! Why did he invite so many bhikkhus if he could not afford to provide for them properly by himself?Now he has to go around begging!”

When his neighbor came to his door, Bilalapadaka donated only a little salt, honey, and butter, which although gladly accepted, were kept separately from what the others had already given. The rich man was confused and wondered why his contribution was purposely kept aside.

He thought maybe his neighbor intended to humiliate him by showing everyone how little a man of so much had offered. So he sent one of his servants to investigate. Back at his house, the man took the things that Bilalapadaka had donated and divided them among the pots of rice, curries, and sweetmeats in order to enhance their flavor. When the servant reported this to Bilalapadaka, Bilalapadaka still doubted his neighbor’s true intention.

So the next day he went to his house with a dagger hidden under his cloak and planned to kill his neighbor should he utter even a single word that would put him to shame. But the man practising charity said to the Buddha, “Venerable Sir, the almsfood is not offered to you by me alone but with the help of many others in the neighborhood. Small or large, each contribution was given in faith and generosity, so may we all gain equal merit.”

Bilalapadaka became ashamed when he heard what his generous neighbor said to the Buddha, for he realized then what a great mistake he had committed. He went and asked his neighbor to forgive him.

When the Buddha heard Bilalapadaka’s words of remorse and learned the reason for them, he said to the people assembled there, “No matter how small a good deed you may get to do, don’t think that it is not important, for if you habitually do small deeds, in the long run they will become big ones.”

Do not think lightly of doing good, saying “A little will not affect me.” just as a water jar is filled up by falling rain, drop by drop, the wise one is filled up with merit by accumulating it little by little.

The Great Pretenders

Once there was a Time of great hardship in the country and the monks who were spending the vassa near a poor village found themselves with very little lay support.

In order to get enough food, the bhikkhus addressed each other in such a way that the people in the village, never suspecting that they would be deceived by monks, believed that they had attained sainthood. And as the news of them spread, they gained even more respect.

So the villagers, although themselves struggling to survive, mangaged to pool together enough food to keep their “saints” well fed and comfortable. When the vassa came to a close and all the bhikkhus who had spent their vassa away from the Buddha went back to pay their respects to him, as was the custom, the well-fed bhikkhus stood out like a sore thumb.

Everyone else looked so thin and pale next to them. The Buddha asked the healthy bhikkhus how they had managed to do so well when the other monks could barely get by. The bhikkhus, expecting praise for their cleverness, recounted how they had misled the poor villagers into believing that they were saints. “And are you really saints?”

the Buddha asked them, knowing full well that they were not. When they admitted that they were not, the Buddha warned them that to accept requisites from lay supporters, if they did not truly merit them, was indeed very unwholesome action and should be refrained from.

It is better for one to eat a red hot lump of iron burning like a flame than to eat almsfood offered by the pious if one is without morality and unrestrained in thought, word, and deed.

The Abusive Brothers

Once there was a Brahmin whose wife loved to praise and speak kindly of the Buddha. He did not mind it at first, but soon his wife’s increased fondness for
the Buddha caused him to become jealous.

One day he went to where the Buddha was staying, armed with a question he thought would leave the Buddha baffled and humiliated. In that way, he thought his wife would realize how misplaced her admiration for the Buddha was.

The husband asked the Buddha, “What do we have to kill to be able to live happily and peacefully?” The Buddha’s reply was simple but one that left the angry man appeased and inspired. “To be able to live happily and peacefully,”

the Buddha replied, “one has to kill anger, for anger itself kills happiness and peace.” The man reflected on the Buddha’s answer and decided to become a bhikkhu himself. Finally he became an arahat.

When the younger brother heard that his elder brother had become a monk, he in turn became very angry. He went and confronted the Buddha, abusing him badly. When he had finished his string of abusive words, the Buddha asked him, “If you offered some food to a guest who came to your house, and the guest left without eating any of it, who would the food belong to?”

The brahmin conceded that the food would belong to him. The Buddha then said, “In the same way, I do not wish to accept your abuse, so the abuse belongs to you.”

The man realized his mistake and felt great respect for the Buddha because of the lesson he had taught him. He, too, became a bhikkhu and later also attained
arahatship.

The bhikkhus remarked how wonderful it was that the Buddha could make those who came to abuse him realize the Dhamma and take refuge in him. The Buddha replied, “Because I do not answer wrong with wrong, many have come to take refuge in me.”

He who without anger endures abuse, beating and punishment, and whose power of patience is like the strength of an army, him do I call a holy man.

The Cruel Butcher

There was once a Butcher who was a very mean and wicked man. Never in his life had he ever done any meritorious deeds. His job was slaughtering pigs and he loved it, often torturing them mercilessly before putting them to death.

One day he got very sick and finally died, but before he died he suffered such agony that he crawled around on his hands and knees for days, squealing and grunting like a pig being slaughtered.

It so happened that the butcher’s home was within ear’s reach of the monastery where the Buddha and his monks were staying. When the bhikkhus heard the desperate squeals coming from his house, they assumed that the miserable butcher was at his cruel work again and shook their heads in great disapproval.

The squeals and grunts went on for several days until, one day, they stopped just as suddenly as they had begun. The monks could not help but remark to each other how wicked and hard-hearted the butcher was for having caused his poor animals so much pain and suffering.

The Buddha overheard what they were saying and said, “Bhikkhus, the butcher was not slaughtering his pigs. He was very ill and in such great pain that he was acting like the pigs he used to enjoy inflicting pain upon.

His bad kamma had finally caught up with him. Today he died and was reborn in a woeful state of existence.” The Buddha then exhorted his disciples to be alert at doing good, for anyone who did evil deeds would have to suffer for them. There was no way to escape from one’s evil deeds, he warned his disciples.

Here he grieves, hereafter he grieves. The evildoer grieves in both existences. He grieves and he suffers anguish when he remembers his impure deeds.

The Pregnant Bhikkhuni

Once there was a young woman who had only been married for a short time when she realized that her true calling was to be a nun and not a wife. Her good husband’s heart broke to hear her ask permission to leave him, but because he loved her dearly, allowed her to go and fulfill her wish.

She thus entered the nunhood and became a disciple of Devadatta, little knowing that she was already pregnant at the time. As the months rolled by, however, and her condition became quite obvious, the other bhikkhunis took her to see Devadatta who demanded that she disrobe.

However, she refused to do so. “Why should I disrobe,” she asked, “if I have not broken any monastic rule?” Instead, she went to the Buddha and became one of his disciples. Now the Buddha knew that she had not violated any of the monastic precepts, but for the sake of her good name as well as that of the Order, the Buddha requested a public hearing of her case in the presence of the king.

The aim of doing so was to prove the innocence of the bhikkhuni once and for all and to remove the last traces of doubt that anyone might still have concerning her condition. The expectant mother was then thoroughly questioned by one of the Buddha’s female devotees who was able to establish that the bhikkhuni had indeed become pregnant while she was still a lay woman and not after having entered the nunhood.

The monk appointed by the Buddha to oversee the case then made a public declaration of the bhikkhuni’s innocence. Everyone gathered there, including the king, returned home satisfied.

When the bhikkhuni finally gave birth to a baby boy, the good king adopted him as his very own son. However, at the age of seven, upon learning that his mother was a nun, the little boy left the palace and became a novice himself. Later, when he turned twenty, he became a bhikkhu.

He then went into a forest and after diligent practice attained arahatship. Thereafter, he continued to live in the forest alone for more than twelve years. When his mother finally got to see him again, she could not control her excitement. She ran up to him with tears of joy in her eyes.

The son, however, remained indifferent and said to her, “You are acting like a worldly mother and not as one who has entered the Order. Haven’t you learned any restraint?” He then walked away, knowing full well that if he had greeted his mother otherwise, she would have remained emotionally attached to him and her own spiritual progress would have been hampered.

Unaware of her son’s purpose, the mother at first could not get over how harshly he had treated her and felt heartbroken. Later, however, she saw that her son was just trying to help her. With that in mind, she practised hard and one day got to realize the futility of all emotional attachment. Letting go of such attachment, she too became an arahat.

The monks who knew the story of the bhikkhuni and her son remarked that if the mother had been foolish enough to disrobe as Devadatta had bid her, she and her son would probably not have become arahats. “They were lucky, Lord,” they added, “to have come to you for refuge.”
The Buddha replied, “Bhikkhus, in trying to attain arahatship, you must strive diligently and depend on yourself, and not on anyone else.”

One indeed is one’s own refuge. What other refuge can there be? With oneself thoroughly controlled, one can attain a refuge which is difficult to attain.

the life of meditative

this if fact of our life and truth of universe

MYSTERIOUS SOUL WITH LOVE

my dear this story is very beautiful for you.

I would like to tell you a story that I love to tell. There is a great temple with a hundred priests to look after it. One night the chief priest went to bed and dreamed that God has sent word that he will visit their temple the next day. He did not believe it, because it is difficult to come across people who are more disbelieving than the priests. He did not believe his dream for another reason, too. People who trade in religion never come to believe in religion. They only exploit religion, which never becomes their faith, their truth.

No one in the world is more faithless than one who turns faith into a means of exploitation. So the chief priest could not believe that God would really this temple. The priest had never believed in such things, although he had been a priest for long years. He had worshipped God for long and he knew that God had never visited his temple even once. Each day he had offered food to God, and he knew that he had in reality offered it to himself. He had also prayed to God every day, but he knew well that his prayers were lost in the empty sky, because there was no one to hear them.

So he thought that the message was not true, it was just a dream, and a dream rarely turns into a reality. But then he was afraid, too, lest the dream should come true. At times what we call a dream turns into a reality and a reality as we know it proves to be a dream. Sometimes what we think to be a dream really becomes a reality. So the chief priest ultimately decided to inform his close colleagues about his last night’s dream. He said to the other priests, ”Although it seems to be a joke, yet I should tell you about it.

Last night I dreamed that God said that he would visit us today.” The other priests laughed and they said, ”Are you mad that you believe in dreams? However, don’t tell others about it; otherwise they will take you to be crazy.” But the head priest said, ”In case he should come, we should be prepared for it. There is no harm if he does not turn up, but if at all he comes, we will not be found wanting.” So the whole temple and its premises were scrubbed, washed and cleaned thoroughly. It was decorated with flowers and flags and festoons.

Lamps were lit and incense burned. Perfumes were sprayed and every kind of preparation made. The priests tired themselves out in the course of the day, but God did not turn up. Every now and then they looked up the road, they were disappointed, and they said, ”Dream is a dream after all; God is not going to come. We were fools to believe so. It was good that we did not inform the people of the town; otherwise they would have simply laughed at us.” By evening the priests gave up all hope, and they said, ”Let us now eat the sumptuous food cooked for God.

It has ever been so: what we offer to God is consumed by us in the end. No one is going to turn up. We were crazy enough to believe in a dream. The irony is that we knowingly made fools of ourselves. If others go mad, they can be excused, because they don’t know. But we know God never comes. Where is God? There is this idol in the temple; it is all there is to it. And it is our business, our profession to worship him.” And then they ate well and went to bed early as they were tired. When it was midnight a chariot pulled up at the gate of the temple, and its sound was heard.

One of the sleeping priests heard it and thought that it was God’s chariot. He shouted to others, ”Listen friends and wake up. It seems he, whom we expected all day, has arrived at long last. The noise of the chariot is heard.” The other priests snubbed him saying, ”Shut up, you crazy one. We have had enough of madness all through the day, now that it is night let us sleep well. It is not the sound of a chariot, but the rumblings of the clouds in the skies.” So they explained the thing away and returned to their beds. Then the chariot halted at the gate, and someone climbed the steps of the temple and knocked at its door.

And again one of the priests woke up from sleep and shouted to his associates, ”It seems the guest has arrived whom we awaited the whole day long. He is knocking at the door.” The other priests berated him as they had done with the first. They said, ”Are you not crazy? Won’t you allow us to sleep? It is just the dash of winds against the door and not a knock of a caller.” So they again rationalized and went back to their beds. The next morning they woke up and walked to the gates of the temple.

And they were astounded to see a few footprints on the steps of the temple. Surely enough someone had climbed them during the night. And then they noticed some marks of a chariot’s wheels on the road, and there was now no doubt at all that a chariot had arrived at the gate in the night. And strangely enough the footprints on the steps were absolutely uncommon and unknown. Now the priests burst into tears and fell down and began to roll on the ground where the chariot had halted. And soon the whole village was at the temple’s gates.

Everybody in the crowd asked with bewilderment, ”What is the matter?” The priests said, ”Don’t ask what the matter is. God knocked at the door of our temple last night, but we rationalized everything. We are now damned. He knocked at the door and we thought that it was the flapping sound of the winds. His chariot came, and we thought that it was the rumble of thunder in the sky. The truth is that we did not understand anything. We only explained them away, because we wanted to enjoy our sleep.”

God knocks at every door. His grace visits every home. But our doors are shut. And even when we hear a knock we immediately rationalize it and explain it away. In the old days they said that ”A guest is God”. There is a slight mistake in this maxim. The truth is that God is the guest. God is waiting as a guest at our doorsteps, but the door is closed. His grace is equally available to all. Therefore don’t ask whether one attains through his grace; one attains through his grace alone. And as far as our efforts are concerned, they are a help in opening the door, in removing the hurdles from the way. When he comes, he comes on his own Zen fakirs say: ”If you want to go to the house of God, you must learn the burglar’s art.” You need as much alertness as the thief uses. You also must transform your fear and enter like the thief, as if it is your own house.

There is a Zen story: There was a very well known thief who was considered number one in the hierarchy of thieves. He was so adept at his art that he had never been caught, yet everyone knew he was a thief. The news even reached the ears of the king who called him, and honored him for his wonderful efficiency and skill.

As he became older his son said to him, ”Father, it is time for you to teach me your art, because who knows when death may come?’ The thief replied, ”If you wish to learn I shall teach you. Come with me tomorrow night.” The next night both father and son set out. The father broke through the wall as the son stood watching. His absorption in breaking in would have put any artist to shame. He was lost in his work as if he were lost in prayer. The son was awed by his father’s proficiency. He was a master thief, the guru of so many thieves.

The son was trembling from head to foot, though it was a warm night. Fear arose again and again, chilling his spine. His eyes darted everywhere; watching all directions, but his father was lost in his work and didn’t lift his eyes even once. When they entered through the whole the son was trembling like a leaf; never had he felt so afraid in all his life, but the father moved about as though the place belonged to him. He took the son in, broke the locks, opened the lock of a huge wardrobe filled with clothes and jewels, and told the son to get inside.

No sooner did the son enter but the father closed the cupboard, locked it, and taking the key with him, left the house shouting, ”Thief, thief!” and returned home. By then everyone had awakened. The son was caught in the worst dilemma of his life. What was he to do? He was worried about the footprints and the hole in the wall. At that moment the servant come right up to the wardrobe. The poor boy was at his wits end, his mind completely blank. At such a time the mind does not work, because it is full of stale knowledge and doesn’t know how to deal with fresh situations. He had never heard of such a thing arising in the whole history of thieving.

His intellect became useless. At the moment the intellect became useless, the consciousness within was awakened. Suddenly, as this energy caught him, he began making a noise as if a rat was gnawing at the clothes inside the cupboard. He was shocked at himself; he had never done such a thing before. The woman servant brought a bunch of keys and opened it. He immediately puffed out the lamp she was holding and, giving her a push, ran out of the house through the hole in the wall. Some ten or twenty people gave chase.

There was a great deal of noise, because the whole village was awake. The thief ran for his life – ran as he had never run before. He had no idea it was he who was running. Suddenly, as he reached a well, he picked up a big stone and threw it in the well – all this without the slightest idea of what he was doing. It seemed to him it was not he but someone else directing him. At the sound of the stone falling in the water the crowd gathered around the well, thinking the thief had fallen in. He stood behind the tree to rest a bit, and then continued home muttering to him.

When he went in he found his father fast asleep with the blanket over his head. The son pulled off the cover and said, ”What are you doing?” The father continued snoring away. He shook him hard. ”What did you do to me? Did you want to see me killed?” The father opened his eyes for a minute and said, ”So you have returned? Good. I’ll hear the rest in the morning,” and appeared to fall back asleep. The son pleaded with him, ”Say something, father. Ask me what I went through or I shall not be able to sleep.”

The father said, ”Now you are an expert; you don’t need to be taught. Anyway, say it if you must.” After the son recounted all that had happened the father answered, ”Enough! Now you know even the art that cannot be taught. After all you are my son! My blood flows in your veins. You know the secret. If a robber uses his intelligence he gets caught. You have to leave your intelligence behind, because each time it is a totally new experience, a new moment; each time you are entering a different person’s house and every house is new. The old experience never comes of use.

Use your intelligence and you land yourself in trouble. Rely on your intuition and you succeed.” Zen masters always mention this story. They say the art of meditation is like house-breaking – you need as much awareness. Intelligence should be put aside and awareness should come into play. Where there is fear there is bound to be awareness. Where there is danger you become absolutely alert and all thoughts stop. accord.

Mount Sumeru is accepted by Buddhist mythology, Hindu mythology, Jaina mythology – all the three religions born in this country have accepted the story of Mount Sumeru. It will be good for you to understand what the purpose of Mount Sumeru is. The purpose is that only chakravartins – and a chakravartin is an emperor who has conquered the whole world – are allowed to sign their names on Mount Sumeru when they enter into paradise.

One great emperor died with a great desire, because there is nothing greater than signing your signature on Mount Sumeru. It was the tradition of those times that the wife of a man who died would commit sati, and the kings used to have many wives, not just one. All the wives had to commit sati – sometimes a hundred women, sometimes five hundred women. Krishna had sixteen thousand women! So it was a massacre; whenever an emperor died, hundreds of living women....

When this emperor reached the gates of heaven with his hundreds of wives who had died with him on the funeral pyre, the gatekeeper said to him, ”You take these instruments and sign on Sumeru, but don’t take anybody else with you.”

The emperor said, ”These are all my wives, and what is the point of signing on Sumeru if there is nobody even as a witness? I want all my wives to be with me to see it.”

The gatekeeper laughed and he said, ”I have been here ... for generations we have been the gatekeepers. Before me, my father and before him, his father ... as long as existence, our family has been on this gate. And everyone on this gate has given the same advice that I’m giving to you. You will be thankful for it. If you insist, I will allow – but then don’t be offended.”

The emperor could not understand, but perhaps the gatekeeper knows more about things ... He went alone and was simply amazed at the gatekeeper’s compassion. Because he could not find a small place anywhere on Mount Sumeru to make his signature. All over there were signatures and signatures and signatures.

The meaning is clear: ”You are not the only one. Millions of emperors have passed before you.” He said to the gatekeeper, who was with him, ”This is very humiliating. I used to think I would be the only emperor who is going to sign. And this whole mountain, miles and miles ... there is no space for a signature!”

The gatekeeper said, ”Do one thing – another advice that we have been giving since my ancestors. Here is the instrument. Remove somebody’s name and put your name. And this is not new; this has been happening for centuries as far as I know, my father knew, my father’s father knew. You have to remove somebody’s name and create space for your signature.”

The emperor said, ”But that takes all the joy out of it. Somebody will come and remove my name.”

The gatekeeper said, ”That, of course, is going to happen. It is up to you.”

This is the failure of success. Ultimate success brings ultimate failure. And this story may be not a fact; the Sumeru Mountain range does not exist anywhere, but all these three religions have accepted it for the simple reason to show you: Don’t run after the ego. Your ego can take you at the most to the Sumeru Mountains; and then you will see you have wasted your whole life, just to remove somebody’s name. What is the joy of being the greatest celebrity in the world?