The Monk and His Boulder

A Monk's Life

So there is this monk who toils in walking practice. Hours and hours each day he walks in nature honing his mental focus on all he passes taming the complaints of sore feet and aching knees, pushing on while singing his songs of devotion and entreaty to Ganesha.

He'd chosen Ganesha years ago because of the boulder. It sat, giant and immovable blocking the doorway of his forest hut where he slept. After his long day walking and singing and watching he arrived each night only to encounter this towering granite barrier between him and his bed. So when he learned of Ganesha, mighty elephant god remover of barriers, he thought, "Ganesha is the god for me. I will walk and sing and watch and Ganesha will reward my devotion by charging through and blasting this boulder from my door once and for all and at last, I will reach my full night of restful sleep.

But alas, years of unrivaled devotion and practice later, the monk arrives at the path to his hut and is faced by his nightly attempt to scale the rock. He falls. He scrapes his knee. He strains his shoulder. "If only I'd been more diligent with my core exercises," he chides. After long hours, finally he reaches the top and lowers slowly through the narrow crack between the top of the door frame and the rock, scraping his knee once more.

The Dream of the Unexpected Guru

The monk dreams. "I have heard and I am here," says a diminutive woman with flowing hair and crafty eyes.

"Your appearance resembles Ganesha not one bit," says the monk.

The woman turns and lifts her hair, revealing gigantic floppy gray ears.

"Well, hmm...ok...errr, perchance might you proceed with with the boulder smashing barrier removal for which you are so famed?" inquires the monk.

The woman grins and places her finger over the monk's lips. "First, pray to the boulder, saying 'I am here with you'. Then be there and listen." Saying this, she turns and departs.

The monk wakes.

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.

The Duck Dream

The monk dreams. He is flying high above a mountain range. Towering trees pass below. Filled with a sense of awe, he glides over lush meadows and rocky passes. A lake comes into view and the monk feels himself banking toward it and dropping down. The water is rushing toward him with alarming speed when he notices webbed feet with silver polish stretching down below him to meet the lake.

"Oh," thinks the monk in his dream, "I am the duck." Just as this thought dawns in full in his mind, he splashes down and is immersed in the watery living lake surrounded by small fish and floating green plants.

He's soon joined by a flock of duck friends and they dabble and splash for some time before flying off and over ridges and lush meadows and rocky passes to the next lake.

This continues for some time, until one day the monk finds himself spiraling up and up over a high altitude glassy clear lake, circling up and up until suddenly, he is falling, descending faster than ever before. Speeding faster and faster straight down until he is suddenly slapped into the lake's surface. Just as he enters the water he feels a white glop of stringy mucilaginous gunk splash down on top of him from behind.

He begins to sink.

"Oh," thinks the monk in his dream, "I am not the duck. I am the stone. And I've just been pooped out."