Zeno’s days usually began just before sunrise. Soon after waking, he would descend to the streets, which were still quiet at this hour. He would walk leisurely to his school, watching the city gradually unfold under the cool purple, blue, then golden hues of the rising sun. He would stop and chat with merchants. He would help vendors carrying large packages. 

His path to school varied slightly each day. He tended to follow the progression of people as he liked to watch the city waking up. However, there was one row of shops, not far from Zeno’s school, that always attracted his attention: A small vanity district. A series of allies where fine tailors, silk merchants, dye makers, and coiffeurs gathered to do business. 

Stopping in the fashion quarter had become a habit of Zeno’s, one that did not go unnoticed by his teacher, Crates 

Zeno would spend the better part of the morning trying on robes and clothes dyed in sea-snail purple. He would soak up the compliments that the merchants would shower upon him, forgetting temporarily that their adoration served only their interest to sell. 

One day, Crates decided to give his pupil a challenge. When Zeno arrived at the school, Crates handed him an enormous pot of hot lentil soup. The pot was so large and filled to the brim that it required a person’s full strength and reach to carry it. 

Crates’ instructions for Zeno were simple: Carry the pot of soup to the agreed location on the other side of town during peak market hours. 

Zeno grabbed the great pot and started out on his task, struggling with all his might and concentration to not spill the soup all over his outfit. 

He opted for the most obscure of routes, snaking along back alleys and side tracks. The great pot sloshed about, splashing soup and staining his clothes, but he was undeterred. The only witnesses to this embarrassing display of clumsiness and poor hygiene were a few street cats. 

At the designated location, Crates had been waiting for Zeno to inspect his pupil’s results. 

Zeno arrived. The pot of soup was mostly full. Thus, Zeno was shocked when his teacher informed him that he had failed the challenge. 

The next morning, upon arrival at the school, Zeno was greeted not by fellow students, but by another enormous pot of soup. Immediately, he understood that he was meant to reattempt the previous day’s challenge. 

This time, Zeno understood that he must take a more direct route through the markets. Again, he strained under the weight of the giant pot. Again, he struggled to keep the soup from spilling. 

As he neared the markets, he began to attract attention. People couldn’t help but stop and stare at the large man teetering and wobbling along under the weight of the largest pot of soup they had ever seen. 

Just as he reached the city center, his arms began to tire. He was losing control over the great pot. Sheets of soup would splat onto the ground. Splashes of it would end up on his clothing, and, in one or two cases, on the clothing of market-goers. All of this commotion was drawing more and more eyes, gawking, and even some laughter. 

Weighed down by not only the enormous pot but also by the scorn of what seemed like the entire market, Zeno decided that he could not carry on that way. He sat the pot down, buried his head between his knees for a moment, and then looked at the stall next to him. The stall was selling wooden bowls, which gave him a fantastically clever idea. Zeno made a deal with the merchant for 100 bowls, and set up a stall of his own. He began selling the hot soup at an excellent price. It took several hours, and in the end the cost of the bowls he had purchased outweighed the earnings from the soup, but at last the giant pot was empty. 

He arrived at the agreed destination with the empty pot with a light sense of satisfaction, believing undoubtedly that this time he had passed his teacher’s test. Again, Crates was there waiting. Again, Crates did not approve. 

The next day, now somewhat vexed by his repeated failure, Zeno hurried toward the school, more determined than ever to finally pass Crates’ test. For the third day in a row, an enormous bowl of hot soup greeted Zeno at the school’s entrance. This time, Zeno reasoned that he had been too slow in his previous attempts, and so he set off with the massive pot at a hurried pace. 

He started off strong and fast. He was fit, but even highly trained bodies have their limits. Zeno’s limit, like the previous day, was reached not long after entering the market district. His arms began to tremble. Soup splashed and sloshed about more furiously than the day before as he hurried along the narrow market streets. It seemed that the humor of the spectacle had worn off. Now, Zeno and his splashing pot of soup were seen as a nuisance. This time, there were angry cries from the crowd. People began to shout at Zeno, calling out his absurdity and clumsiness. 

Zeno tried to remain focused, tried to keep up his pace, but he was beginning to falter under the searing pressure of the crowd. 

‘Why would Crates want to humiliate me so?’ he thought to himself.  

Then it came to him. A revelation. 

He set the big pot down. 

‘Of course’, he realized silently, ‘Of course’. 

His failures in the past were not because he had been too slow or because he had spilled some soup on his clothing. 

At that moment, feeling reinvigorated by his realization, Zeno lifted the great pot over his head, grunting under its immense weight, tipping it over, allowing a giant wave of soup to spill over his head, soaking him entirely from head to toe. 

The market froze. 

All stopped to stare at this incredible sight. With the captive audience of the entire marketplace, Zeno looked around, soaked and covered in soup, and shouted with a grin, ‘Look at me now! Look at me now!’

Upon arriving at the designated meeting point, this time with an empty pot and soaked head to toe in soup, Zeno could already see his teacher’s smile as he approached. 

‘Conceitedness was your only obstacle,’ exclaimed Crates, ‘but today you have earned your lesson in humility.’ 

A short story about humility

A famous combat sports coach named Jason Parillo is known for telling his athletes, “You don’t go in the rain without getting wet.” In his world, this means you don’t compete at the highest level in boxing or MMA without getting hit. 

In the case of Zeno in our story, he was meant to traverse the market with a giant pot of soup the only way one can traverse the market with a giant pot of soup: while looking foolish. 

The same principle applies to our own lives. If we dare to be great at anything, we’re sure to ruffle a few feathers along the way. If we go out there, venturing into the world, there are sure to be obstacles. Some we can avoid, sure. But many are unavoidable. For this latter kind, we must face them head on. 

You may not know it, but there is a rabbit who lives and works on the Moon. His occupation? He spends all his days making pure, white rice cakes. In the evenings, he lays them out carefully, with each rice cake distanced equally from the others, until the entire surface of the Moon is covered by his chewy treats. His employer? The Sun. 

The rabbit doesn’t particularly like making rice cakes. It’s not that he hates it, but he would rather be doing something else. 

The rabbit always dreamed of becoming a musician. He wanted to make music that would inspire people to live compassionately and treat others with care and understanding. 

One day, the rabbit mustered up the courage to speak with The Sun about his aspirations. 

“Sun, why do you have me making rice cakes all day long?” asked the rabbit. 

“Well, your task is not about making the rice cakes. Your task is to spread the fresh rice cakes to cover the surface of the Moon,” replied The Sun 

“Oh, I see,” said the rabbit with a sigh. “You see, I’ve always wanted to make music to inspire people. I’ve always wanted for the people of Earth to be moved—compelled to treat one another with love and understanding…” 

“My dear Rabbit, don’t you see?” replied The Sun. “Your daily work does inspire the people of Earth. Why don’t you think about it tonight as you lay out your rice cakes. You need not search for a new occupation if inspiration is your aim.” 

That night, as the rabbit was laying out his rice cakes, he thought and he thought and he thought. He thought until he could no more. 

“How will these simple rice cakes ever inspire the people of Earth?” he asked himself. “They can’t enjoy their sweetness nor their delightful chewyness.” 

The next day, exceptionally exhausted from all the thinking, the rabbit returned to see The Sun. 

“Sun, I spent the whole evening thinking of how my rice cakes could inspire the people of Earth, and I’ve concluded that it is impossible!” exclaimed the rabbit. “They shall never know how delicious they are and with what care I prepare them.” 

“Oh, my dear Rabbit, I’m afraid you’ve missed the mark ever so slightly,” replied The Sun encouragingly. “Indeed, the people of Earth will never taste your rice cakes. They were never intended to inspire by taste. This evening, think it over with care, and I’m sure this time you’ll see just how much your rice cakes inspire the people of Earth.” 

So the rabbit returned to his kitchen, and, once again, began to mull it over. As he worked, he pondered and he pondered and he pondered. He pondered until he could no more. 

“I can barely spot a tall building on Earth. How would anyone way down there see my rice cakes way up here?” the rabbit questioned. “It’s too far. They’ll never see the artful presentation of my rice cakes.” 

Somewhat dejected, the rabbit returned the following day to report his findings to The Sun. 

“Sun, with all due respect, again, I believe you are mistaken about my rice cakes. No one from Earth will ever see how perfectly shaped and how wonderfully glossy my rice cakes are. Now I really would like it if you would let me pursue music!” exclaimed the rabbit. 

“Wonderfully glossy…” echoed The Sun.

“Yes, but…” 

“Indeed, your rice cakes are the glossiest I have ever seen,” continued The Sun. “The gloss on your rice cakes reflects my light to make the Moon shine at night. Without your rice cakes, the Moon wouldn’t shine at all. When the people of Earth look up at night, the sight of the Moon reminds them that they are part of something bigger. If even for a brief moment, they pause, and appreciate the beauty, wonder, and mystery of their existence. They are reminded that the people who came before them gazed upon the same shining moon. They are reminded that the people who will follow in their footsteps will look upon it, too. They are reminded that they share the Moon, among other things, with all other beings on Earth. This inspires them greatly—to act compassionately and humbly with one another.” 

“So, my dear Rabbit, you see that your rice cakes illuminate not just the night sky, but also the hearts of all beings on Earth.”

A short story about purpose

This story is dedicated to my baby son. It’s a story about finding purpose and meaning in what you’re doing now. It reminds us that not only is the grass not always greener on the other side, but the grass on this side is already plenty green. We just need to look deeper to find the meaning in our lives (and work) today. 

There was an old farmer who had a herd of horses. One day, the horses broke through the fence and the whole herd ran off into the wild. 

On hearing the unfortunate news, the old farmer’s neighbor came over and said, ‘This is really bad fortune for you.’ The old farmer simply replied, ‘Maybe.’

The next day, to everyone’s surprise, the herd returned but with a beautiful black stallion in their midst. This stallion was a valuable asset. 

Again, the neighbor came over and said to the old farmer, ‘This is very good fortune for you.’ The farmer simply rejoined with ‘Maybe’. 

The very next day, the farmer’s son tried to mount the new black stallion, fell, and broke his leg. 

Once again, the neighbor appeared. ‘This is very bad fortune for you.’ Again, the farmer simply sighed and said, ‘Maybe.’ 

A week passed and the army came to the farmer’s village to press all the young men into service. The captain of the army came up to the old farmer and demanded that he hand over his only son. 

Unfortunately, the farmer’s son was on crutches, nursing a badly broken leg and the army moved on to the next homestead.

A short story about fate: The moral

It takes humility to embrace fate. There is so much we can never know about how events will unfold. There are always unforeseen ways in which situations evolve—for good or for bad. However, the one thing which is true of both the good and the bad is that there are many factors we cannot control. In the face of outcomes we do not control, we must have the courage to let go. We have the humility to acknowledge that we don’t know exactly how things will play out and we have the courage to spare ourselves from useless worrying.

A cook was butchering an ox for his employer. Every slide of his wrist, every circle of his elbow, every push of his shoulders, every pivot on his toes and heels, and every gliding movement of the knife were in perfect harmony—like the sections of a royal orchestra. 

‘This is truly wonderful!’ said the cook’s employer. ‘How did you learn to butcher an ox with such skill?’

The cook laid down his knife and said, ‘I’ve learned to do and be at the same time—to act presently without wandering thoughts of past or future. This is better than any butcher’s manual.

When I first started to cut up oxen, what I saw was the entire ox. After three years, I had learned not to see the ox as a whole.

Now I work with my heart, not with my eyes or hands. I ignore my senses and follow my spirit. This way, the knife follows the natural lines and glides through the empty spaces, using what is there and what is not there to my advantage.

This way, I avoid the bones and cartilage.

A good cook changes their knife every year. A regular cook changes their knife every month. 

I have been using this knife of mine for nineteen years. 

It has cut thousands of oxen. But, the blade is as sharp as the day it was made. 

Most of the animal is empty space, and the blade of the knife has no real thickness. There is no resistance when you pass something as thin as a knife’s blade through empty space. 

Sure, there are difficult parts. But, when I encounter a difficult part, and I know it will be difficult, I take care and take my time. Then, very gently, I move the knife until an empty space opens up and the resistance dissipates on its own, like the clearing of fog under the morning sun. Then, with a feeling of satisfaction, I wipe my blade and put it away.’

After a long pause, the cook’s employer said, ‘I must thank you, my dear cook, for your lesson in butchering has taught me how all things must be done.’ 

A Taoist story about flow

This story comes from The Book of Chuang Tzu by Martin Palmer (Translator) and Elizabeth Breuilly (Translator).

This is a story about flow. Sometimes, when we try too hard, or when we overthink, we get in our own way. Flow is about losing oneself in the act. It’s about being fully immersed in an experience. When we are truly present, and when we work from the heart, we find the path of least resistance.

One day, a grandfather and his granddaughter were preparing dinner. 

The grandfather says to his granddaughter, ‘I have two wolves in my heart that are fighting each other. One wolf is vengeful, angry, and afraid, while the other wolf is kind, forgiving, and loving.’ 

After some time the little girl asks, “Grandfather, which wolf will win?” He replies, ‘The one I feed the most.’

The end. 

A short story about internal conflict

We all have two wolves in our hearts. Instead of trying to eliminate the one that causes us pain, we focus on nourishing the one that promotes compassion.