The Stephen Chong Blog

A story: The traveller returns

A monk returned to the abbey this very day and his arrival was the cause for much celebration and rejoicing. He had been on a pilgrimage for over two years and his absence had been surely missed by other monks and novices of the abbey. As he entered the gates of the monastery he was surrounded by old friends and well-wishers who assailed him with questions of his travels and tales from the world beyond the walls of the abbey.
 
After breaking fast and taking a well-earned bath, our monk took station upon a meditation mat in the main courtyard and was immediately set upon by many who would hear his story. As he related tales of his travels and travails, the courtyard filled to overflowing with eager ears and an abundance of questions, all of which the monk answered, often to the opened mouth astonishment of the listeners. Eventually though, after many hours of story-telling and with the sun beginning its decent upon the horizon, the master of the abbey came into the courtyard and bade our travelling monk into his chambers for refreshments and conversation.
 
As our monk entered into the sacred chamber of the master monk, he fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground in reverence and respect of his master.
‘Rise my young traveller and tell me tales of your journey. Come, sit in front of me here,’ as the master gestured towards the mat placed directly opposite his chair.
It was then that a sallow pale came over the demeanour of our young monk, as if he was assaulted by some bad memory or abhorrent thought.
 
‘What ails you young man? What is cause of your frown that replaces the wonder of your smile?’ asked the master of the abbey.
‘Master,’ replied the young monk, ‘At once I am greatly pleased to be back here in the abbey, for in truth it is a safe haven from the many trials that exist beyond the sanctity of these walls.’
‘Master,’ he continued, ‘in my two years of travelling, I have seen much that torments my spirit and disturbs my sleep. I have seen abominable acts committed against my fellow man. I have seen murder, pestilence, greed and avarice. I have seen acts of treachery and violence against the weak and poor in our society. In truth master, I have seen much that surely tests my belief in the sanctity of man and the absence of the divine. My eyes have beheld many things that have caused me to challenge my own faith in God. Even now, as I sit before you, I feel abjectly lost and ready to exit these walls, never to return again with the title of monk.’
 
The master closed his eyes for many moments after these words, but when he again opened his eyes, his gaze was full of love and compassion for the young monk who sat at his feet.
 
‘My son,’ said the master, ‘that you have been witness to these many tribulations is both a gift of great magnitude and a test of your faith like no other.’
 
‘But master, how can these things be a gift? I have seen murder, pillage and pestilence where many suffered and many died … surely this cannot be a gift?’
 
‘My son, what you have witnessed is man’s fight against his own true nature.’
‘But master, I do not understand.’
 
‘Always,’ continued the master, ‘does man fight what he fears the most and what he fears he makes real. It is the poor man who envies the rich man and despises him for his wealth. It is the rich man, who despises the poor, for fear that he will take his possessions. It is the woman who screams abuse and scorn at the man she feels has wronged her, only to lack the insight that she brought him into her life to secure her future. It is the villager who amasses great volumes of grain for fear of one day being in need, when his neighbour has nothing to eat because his crops have failed.’
 
‘But master, what are you saying? Are you saying that man brings all his misery upon himself? That none of these trials are retribution from a judgemental God?’
 
‘My son, I say to you that at root of all of these trials and tribulations, is man’s definition of self.’
 
‘Master, what do you mean?’
 
‘It is our definition of ‘self’ that is our greatest limitation and cause for much of our suffering! Would it be possible to murder another if you saw the other as a part of yourself? Would we be enabled to steal from another if we knew we were stealing from ourself? Could we refuse a starving person something to eat, if we knew they were our brother in spirit?’
 
‘In truth, I say to you my young monk, it is because we see ourselves as separate from one another, that much of our trials and tribulations have origin. If man were to look upon all others as kindred spirits – all one in the eyes of God – then we would not do unto others the many things that we do now. We could not, for we would know that what we do to another, we do to ourself. Then, at man’s highest stage of evolution, if he truly loves himself, he will love all others as the self. Do you see, young monk, how far man has yet to evolve in these matters?’
 
‘Yes master, I do see how far we are yet to evolve. I say also that I will not tarry a long time in the abbey, for my truth lies yet unrevealed and there is much that I have yet to do outside of these walls.’
 
‘Go with God, my young son and know that there will never be an absence of love in anything that you do.’
 
‘Thank you master,’ said the young monk.