The Monk and His Boulder

A Monk's Life

The Dream of the Unexpected Guru

Listening to the Boulder, part 1

The monk spends time with the boulder. He listens. Mostly this happens at the end of the day, between the movement of day time and his nightly effort to surmount his way into his hut and bed. He appreciates these moments of respite and finds he is less stressed when climbing or skirting around the boulder at the end of the night than before he started the listening sessions. But he hears nothing.

One morning after a particularly strenuous day of walking, the monk stops on his way out to be with the boulder.

"My body is so sore this morning," thinks the monk, "methinks I will stop by the boulder a bit before heading out."

This time as he sits down before the granite, he hears something immediately.

The sound is kinda like a cluck.

The sound is kinda like a quack.

It is more than just a murmuring.

And it is getting rapidly closer.

With a gust of wind and rapid flapping, a duck comes in for a landing on the side of the boulder..

"Friend duck, I feel drawn to issue warning, this noble rock face is not likely to serve well as a landing spot," says the monk. "I suspect it will prove a challenge to gain purchase on its surface. I speak from considerable personal experience."

Despite the warning, the duck attempts to land on the most vertical bare section of rock. As his feet scratch along apparently looking for a perch, a small stone comes loose and falls to the ground.

Even on frequently climbed rock such as the boulder, there can be here and there small rocks which have been held firmly in a crack which loosen slowly. This one in particular the monk avoided touching on his nightly climbs as he'd learned to fear its slow wiggly giving way.

No sooner than the stone had hit the pathway, the duck swoops down on the stone and swallowed it.

Ducks like to spread tasty water plants from lake to lake so they have a special place inside for carrying specimens. This is where the duck stashes the stone. As the duck turns to fly away, the monk notices what looks like maybe silver nail polish on the ends of the duck's toes.

That night, the monk discovers that the space left behind from the pebble's departure makes for a most useful handhold for scaling this side of the boulder. New routes over and into the hut emerge.

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