The Wandering Monk
by Rodney Groves
The Warlord
As the sun crested the hilltops, the master ventured forth into the morning mist. In his hand he carried a walking stick, one that the farmer had fashioned for him from the branch of an old sycamore tree. Placing one foot in front of the other cautiously, he picked his way along the narrow pathway that led down the mountain into the valley far below. The feeling swept over him that this would be a treacherous, but necessary journey. He felt a deep inner peace and a knowing that all would be well as long as he practiced keeping his mind focused on the present moment. It is in doing this, he knew, that would keep him safe as it heightened all his senses and his instincts. He would be mindful of the feelings of intuition that spoke to him through the vibrations of his body and the nature that surrounded him.
The night had been a restful one with vivid and colorful dreams that spoke to him of coming events. He had awakened with a sense of drama unfolding, and yet he was at a very peaceful place in his soul. He had almost a childlike sense of adventure urging him onward into this experience. There was an eagerness that drove him onward and he was anxious to know what delightful experiences lay before him. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was entering the domain of one of the fiercest warlords in the region that caused his sense of excitement. After all, he would be considered a trespasser and would most certainly be challenged to explain the reason for his presence there. It would be obvious to the warlord that he was neither a peasant farmer nor one of his soldiers. The wandering monk continued on down the mountain path, descending into the valley below, meditating as he walked, focusing upon the unfolding of the tiniest moments and giving no more thought to the warlord or to what lay ahead.
"It was difficult to focus on the placement of his feet when..."
The path beneath his footsteps was a rocky one, with large jagged rocks that he was required to maneuver around lest he should stumble and fall. It was difficult to focus on the placement of his feet when the surrounding beauty of the mountain was vying for his attention. The fowls of the air were abundant all about and he found this to be satisfying. Companions he felt a solid kinship to were accompanying him upon his journey. He knew these creatures, of their struggle to survive and of their dependence upon each other. 'We are all connected,' he thought, 'the birds are connected to their species as well as to me. They are family to their own kind and rely upon their own for the knowledge of survival, for their comfort and support'. Not only was the master fully in touch with the deepest part of the spirit within, but also and perhaps because of this, he was deeply in touch with the spirit of nature around him.
The steep pathway of jagged rocks became one of rolling contours as the teacher descended into the high valley. He was still descending on his journey, but the rocky pathway had now yielded to pebbles and grasses making the traveling much easier, allowing him to partake of the beauties of the countryside. In the mid afternoon, while the sun was nearly at its zenith, he stopped along the path. dipped his bowl into the brook and began preparing himself the daily meal in the shade of a large tree whose leaves were now beginning to change to yellow gold and fall from the branches.
Sitting upon the grasses with his posterior propped against the tree the monk completed his meal and was about to rise to wash his bowl in the nearby brook when he heard the thunderous sound of hooves beating along the ground. In moments they were upon him, a small band of five soldiers dressed in uniform of fur and cloth, charging in his direction from the valley below. Ominous and intimidating, a look of rugged barbarism emanated from their faces and in the manner which they held their lean muscular bodies sitting upon winded horses now standing in a cloud of dust.
At their sides, and roped to their horses, were tools of their trade, weapons of destruction that they brandished with pride. "Where is your horse stranger?" The lead man asked as the horses pitched and fidgeted, anxious to run. His voice was harsh and dominating, one that required immediate attention and response. In contrast the master's voice was as quiet and serene as the babbling brook that flowed nearby. "I have no horse, sir. I am but a traveling monk whose only possessions are a rice bowl and the garments on my back. I present myself to you in humility and peace." The soldiers roared with laughter at this response, as they had never seen a monk before. A man that spoke of peace was foreign to them. Theirs was a life of warring and taking from others by the force of their hands. "What are you doing in the land of the great warlord Hai Chang? It is forbidden for anyone to be here who does not have the blessing of the great general and you my fat little monk," he said pointing a saber at the master's midsection, "are certainly not here with the blessing of Chang."
The warrior stepped toward him and grabbed the monk's robe at the scruff of the neck, lifting the monk's feet from the ground."You know my little fat friend," he sneered, "I could run my sword through you without blinking an eye." The monk looked deep into the warrior's eyes and smiled calmly and knowingly as though he held a great secret. There was a hint of laughter in his voice. "And likewise my warrior friend, you may run your sword through me and I too shall not blink an eye."
The warlord released him and stepped back, as he had never encountered such a brave soul before, one who was willing to give him the power over his life without so much as a whimper. He reared back on his heals and roared with laughter. "Take him" he commanded his soldiers "The great Hai Chang can use such merriment," he spoke. "Come little man. We will take you to him so that he may enjoy your words of ridiculousness and then," the large warlord sneered, putting his nose to the nose of the monk and lowering the tone of his voice "and then do with you what he will." With raucous laughter the soldiers loaded the master upon the backside of a horse, like a bag filled with rice, and galloped down the trail in the direction from which they had come.
Deep in the heart of the valley, in a canyon shrouded in dense brush, was the encampment of the great warlord Hai Chang. A soldier that had risen in the ranks, he preferred to be on the march, in the openness of the countryside, rather than in the confines of a city dwelling. All about the encampment were soldiers and their families going about the tasks of doing their daily duties of grooming the horses, tending to livestock, preparing meals and creating orderliness. The monk's transport had shaken and disheveled him, leaving him sore and bruised. The soldier that had transported him escorted the monk to the largest tent in the encampment, half dragging and half-carrying him.
"I am here to deliver a trespassing stranger to the great Hai Chang," the soldier said to the guard at the doorway of the tent. "It is a monk who has wandered into the land of his Excellency and who speaks of peace and brotherhood," he said with a sneer. The guard disappeared into the doorway and then returned moments later. He spoke to the soldier in a formal manner, "The great Hai Chang expresses that the monk is welcome here and wishes to have him as his guest at the evening meal. He instructs that the monk should be made comfortable and refreshed until then." They saluted and the soldier did as he was instructed. A dramatic change came over his demeanor as he now began to show the master some element of respect, even apologetically. . It seemed that the great Hai Chang had a tremendous influence upon the attitudes of his soldiers, Truly the sign of a great leader.
In the early evening the teacher was escorted to the dining hall. It was a large structure, half tent and half-wooden building, of a make shift sort of construction. The great Hai Chang took his main evening meal with his soldiers. It was his deep respect for them and the idea that if they were worthy to fight and die with then they were worthy to eat with, that brought them to this meal together. The officers took their meal in the same hall, but separate from the foot and horse soldiers. This was intentional so that they could discuss battle plans and strategies during the course of their meal if such was their inclination. Hai Chang sat at a table located at the rear of the dining hall, facing the doorway. At his side was the favored officer of the day, usually one who had exhibited exceptional bravery or intelligence in battle, and the highest-ranking officers that he depended upon for assistance in carrying out his orders.
The master was directed to a seat directly across from Hai Chang who bowed deeply prior to seating himself but said nothing throughout the duration of the meal. When they had finished eating the general folded his arms and raised his posture to look down upon the small monk. "So they tell me that you are a brave one," the general acknowledged. He paused a moment and then spoke again in a quiet and whispered tone. "It seems to me that you are a stupid man, but a brave man nonetheless." The monk nodded his head respectfully. "I am but a lowly monk", he spoke, "I am not brave nor skilled at the art of battle. I do not know how to lead men nor to solicit bravery from them. I am but a lover of nature and people. I study the rising of the sun and the changing of the leaves. I find great delight in the blossoming of a flower or the soaring of a bird. I am but a cloud in the empty sky, always changing, always one with the wind that brings about my change."
The general listened with deep interest at the words that were spoken. They were unusual words to his ears, words of gentleness and respect for life that he was not accustomed to hearing. He stood, and motioned to the monk to follow him. A soldier began to arise to accompany them but the general motioned him to remain. "Come, my friend," he said, " let us stretch our legs and take in the cool evening air. I am intrigued by your words. You are certainly unlike any other that I have met." With that said they walked out into the night, the loud drunken laughter of soldiers fading behind them.
In silence they walked for a time beneath a cloudless starry sky. The moon was bright but not quite full. "Tell me, how it is that you can be unmoved in the face of death without raising a hand to defend yourself?" The monk thought for a moment and then stopped to look up at the starry sky above them, ablaze in shimmering glory. "See the heavens above us", he said in deep respect, "how brilliantly the heavenly bodies shine and how beautiful they radiate. They are far too numerous to count and they extend on into the depth and breadth of the sky." He walked on a little longer as the general followed alongside him. Suddenly he stopped and knelt down scooping a handful of dirt, he stood, let it sift through his fingers and fall to the earth. "How wonderful is this simple thing called earth. It gives nourishment to the plants and animals that feed us. Without it we would perish. It is only dirt, not diamonds or emeralds, and yet though it is common it is far more precious." They walked on a little longer in silence. Suddenly the monk stopped at the edge of the hillside, sat upon a boulder and motioned to the moonlit valley below. "The world in all its diversity is a wonderful and magical place, filled with mystery and hidden secrets. How is it that the silk worm spins such beautiful threads that enable the emperor to be clothed in splendor? How is it that the caterpillar yields to the callings of nature and weaves a cocoon to later emerge as the butterfly with color and grace that takes your breath away. These are the wonders of the world of which I speak. It is only through clearing our minds of our own sense of importance that we can be still enough to hear and see this glory.
The general walked on with the little monk in silence. When they could see the encampment from the hilltop he turned and spoke. "I tire of the life I live. I am beginning to feel the deep pains of many years of battle, not only the physical pains but the deeper ones that cut into my soul; the memory of young soldiers, barely emerging from childhood, cut down and left on the battlefield. I have had many sons who have lived and died valiantly and I mourn them. They are now but a memory to me." The general sat and buried his face in the palm of his hands. The monk placed his hand upon the general's shoulder. "Yes, no matter how long we try to avoid the pains of life they eventually catch up to us. We can run from them and hide ourselves in drink and lust, but eventually we must face the pains and in so doing find deeper meaning to our lives." The general stood and took the monk's hand. "Thank you for sharing your wisdom with me", he spoke quietly, "Perhaps it is time for me to step down from my war and let the younger men do battle with the darkness." The monk nodded, "Perhaps," he said, "perhaps it is time to embrace the darkness rather than to do battle with it". Saying so, he turned and walked back to the quarters that had been prepared for him. sitting in quiet meditation as the sounds of the night yielded to silence.