An adolescent boy stood before his master and spoke as humbly as he knew. “Master, I’m not even trying to not try. How am I to learn?” he asked frustrated, agitated at the very idea of it all. His master, unmoved, remained seated in concentration. The boy, fuming, stampeded out of the temple. He stomped straight through the temple grounds and into the woods. His tortured body wandered in excruciating pain, and crumbled under its own weight. He collapsed; face planted softly in the mossy carpet.

When the boy comes around, arising spontaneously, he opens his eyes and sees the sunshine poking through the forest thicket. He hears the evening birds, and inhales the peaty, earthen flavors. His bellied exhale stirs the loose, forest floor scatterings into the air. Upon them falling gently on his cheek, he sits up slowly, and rests himself against a tree. He sits there for 3 days; unprovoked and undisturbed.  On the morning of the fourth day, without cause, he stands up, places one foot in front of the other, and wanders the opposite way in which he came.

As he reenters the temple gardens, the eyes of his fellow monks follow him. He approaches the temple stairs without out need or want, ascends without heed or hesitation, and sits without thought.