There was a man so displeased by the sight of his own shadow and the sound of his own footsteps that he was determined to get rid of both by running away from them. 

But every time he put his foot down, there was another step, and his shadow kept up with him without the slightest difficulty. 

He thought he must not be running fast enough, so he ran faster and faster and faster, without stopping, until he finally dropped dead of exhaustion. 

He failed to realize that if he merely stepped into the shade, his shadow would vanish, and if he sat down and stayed still, there would be no more footsteps.

The end. 

Chinese Philosopher and Poet, Chuang Tzu

A short story about emotions

We’re constantly running away from our emotions. Fear. Anxiety. Grief. We read books to learn how to rid ourselves of them. We go on meditation retreats in search of relief. We book fancy holidays for a chance to escape. Maybe we should pause and try sitting with our emotions. Just sitting, examining, accepting, and understanding. Afterall, these emotions have got our species this far, so it’s probably best not to run from them.

Once upon a time, there were two boys who lived on a quiet island. They would spend the bulk of their days repairing fishing weirs and lobster traps. They lived just two houses down from the island’s lighthouse, where the land stretched high above the sea to form great cliffs of black rock. After their work on the weirs and traps, they loved nothing more than to play ball in a spacious patch of grass that reached from their garden to the edge of the cliff. They would spend all their evening hours playing there until the last light was swallowed by the sea. 

But they had to play cautiously, ever weary of the stark cliff. They were accustomed to this piece of land and they had formed a sort of mental boundary beginning at about ten paces from the cliff’s edge, before which rough and speedy play was not allowed. 

One day, a carpenter who had been working on the lighthouse traveled the cliffside path back down to the village after his day’s work. He passed through the boys’ patch of land. The boys were playing ball, as they did reliably at this hour. He stopped and observed their play for some time. When a natural break in the game allowed them to notice him, they rushed over to greet this rare visitor. 

“You boys could really stretch your legs and make use of this land if there were a fence along this edge. I could build you one,” said the carpenter. 

“No doubt you could and even less doubt that it would be a solid fence,” replied the eldest boy. “But the trouble with fences is that they tend to keep out visitors like yourself.” 

“We wouldn’t want to miss out on a traveler’s stories or worse yet, an official bringing fireworks on New Year’s Day!” exclaimed the younger boy. 

The carpenter did not persist. He simply bid the boys farewell. 

A few weeks later, the boys were returning home after a short trip to the mainland, when upon summiting the hill that led up to their patch of grass, they discovered there had been a fence erected. 

It was a great, solid fence that ran along the cliff’s edge and created a secure perimeter around the field. 

“That carpenter went and did it!” protested the eldest boy with fists clenched. In his turn, the younger boy kicked the ground and spat.

After some moping and cursing, not entirely dissuaded, the boys fetched their ball and began to play. At first, the play was the usual—cautious, and within the confines of the mental boundary that kept them from nearing the edge. But, gradually, the boys began to run more freely, throwing and chasing the ball with more fervor and gusto than ever. New plays emerged. Creativity and spontaneity sprang up naturally in their play and they lost track of time and space, fully immersed in the experience. They quickly adjusted to the fence and to the absence of danger and were able to finally play to their full capacity.

Suddenly the flow of their game was interrupted by the clatter of metal. They looked up and saw a traveler dressed in foreign garb walking in their field. 

“Hello traveler! Welcome!” shouted the eldest. “But how, sir, did you get over this great fence?”

“Through the gate installed at the path,” replied the traveler, “Now if you boys know how to make a pot of tea, I’d be happy to share a few stories in exchange!”

The end. 

A short story about setting boundaries

Many of us find it hard to set boundaries. We struggle to say no. We accept invitations we don’t really care about because we have fear of missing out. Or when we do set boundaries, we set them in ways that limit us rather than provide us with the space we need for what’s essential to us.

Time is our most precious commodity, so we need to be proactive in protecting it. It’s hard to say no on the spot, so it’s important to create boundaries for ourselves to prevent the need to say no. Tell people in advance that you’ll be busy during a certain period. Turn off your phone or avoid email until after noon. One point of this short story about setting boundaries is that we control the boundaries we build. Once effective boundaries are established, they protect us from interruptions and non-essential demands on our time. But, we can temporarily remove the boundary, if or when we so choose, and let in the people who matter most to us.

“We’re tight-fisted with property and money, yet think too little of wasting time, the one thing about which we should all be the toughest misers.”

— Seneca

A young lion was taken into captivity and thrown into a concentration camp where, to his amazement, he found other lions who had been there all their lives, for they had been born in captivity. No one could even remember a lion who had never been born there. The newcomer soon became acquainted with the social activities of the camp lions. They had banded themselves into groups. Some of these groups often argued and fought over the best way to escape the camp, who should lead them, and the best methods for organizing themselves and coordinating their efforts. 

Other groups were of a more cultural bent, attempting to carefully preserve the traditions and history of the times when lions roamed free in the jungle and on the savannah. Some told ‘stories’ or myths about times long past. One story which had gained a lot of currency was about a legendary lion who would return some day to liberate them all. These groups created conflicting narratives and these narratives soon turned into religions with different sects forming and soon conflict arose among these sects. 

One of the strongest sects told tales from a distant time when a certain lion named Aslan had sacrificed his own life and promised to come back and liberate all lions—with one caveat, you had to believe and worship him and follow stringent guidelines in order to be liberated. Others said that this story was not true. 

A few groups were more proactive and could be called revolutionary. They met to plot against their captors or other revolutionary groups. Every now and then a revolution would break out, one particular group would be wiped out, or the guards would all be killed only to be replaced by a different set of guards.

The newcomer kept to himself, never speaking but seemed deep in thought: a loner who belonged to no group. There was something strange about him that commanded everyone’s begrudging respect but also a. degree of hostility, for his presence aroused fear and self-doubt. One day a brazen young lion approached him and asked the enigmatic lion why he always kept to himself. 

He said to the brazen young lion: ‘I am not joining any group. These poor fools are busy with everything except what is essential!’

‘And what do you think is most essential?’, asked the young lion.

‘Studying the nature of the fence!’, he replied.

The end.

A short story about mindful awareness

“Why, when God’s earth is so wide, have you 

Fallen asleep in a prison?”

— Rumi

We build fences for ourselves. So much of our time is wasted because we live with regret and sorrow from our past, and anxiety and fear for the future. So what would be the antidote to our afflictions? We study the nature of the fences which are holding us prisoner. We need to learn how to rest in the here and now by following our own breath while sitting, walking, or even lying down when we find it difficult to sleep.

We have to set aside some time in our busy lives to rest in silence. We can always come back to our breath when we find our minds and our bodies lost in the past or future. We have a habit of running, usually from ourselves. Thich Nhat Hanh calls this ‘habit energy’. We find it hard to rest because no one has taught us the healing power of mindfulness practice, of living in the present moment.

The air was beginning to tighten—only the white cloud of exhalation broke the dryness of the crisp winter air. The rising condensation was moonlit and heavy as it left Jiro’s mouth. His breath was dense and not the only thing slowly dissipating upwards, as Jiro himself was inching up a seldom-used mountain path. His inner tension and gripping alertness also began to rise as he fixated on his destination—a lone dim light just barely visible atop a ridge overhead. 

Due to its faintness, Jiro suspected the light belonged to a traveler, perhaps a lone trader or hunter. He hoped that the owner of the light was alone, as his intention was to sneak quietly into their camp and rid them of any valuable possessions. 

Jiro was warmed by the push to ascend against the resistance of the partially overgrown trail. All the while, his thoughts were with his wife and two small children, sleeping in the village below, cold and hungry.

After a while, the trees began to thin and the trail bled out into a grassy plain, punctuated here and there by large boulders. He crept quieter with slow and deliberate steps, which contrasted his racing heart. He found cover behind a boulder and peaked around the corner to survey the camp, which was now within a distance from which he could make out the finer details. His hopes were upheld. Judging by the small fire, reduced to a few faltering flames and orange embers, the camp appeared to belong to no more than two people. The dwelling was nothing but a single giant boulder whose base curved sharply inward like a crescent moon to form a sort of roof. There was no doubt that this was the shelter. It was empty. Perhaps the traveler had decided to make use of the abundant moonlight to travel by night, Jiro reasoned.

Eased by the vacancy of the camp and still driven by desperation, Jiro walked freely to the shelter to search for anything that may have been left behind. He had to crouch under the crescent-shaped rock to enter. To his relief, there was a gray linen bag sitting atop a flat stone, which appeared to be the ideal place to rest one’s possessions. His heart rate began to rise again along with the urgency of his movements as he quickly untied the string that fastened the simple bag. 

The first item he pulled out was a wooden bowl. It was so well used that the grain had become smooth like sea glass and the natural reddish color of the wood only lingered on the outer edges. After tossing the bowl aside, Jiro pulled out its accompanying spoon. Unlike the bowl, which was one commonly found in any general store, the spoon was roughly fashioned from a piece of bamboo. Its handle was long and thin and felt fragile. At the bottom of the bag was something solid and heavy. This was Jiro’s last hope for something valuable enough he could trade for rice and coal. Jiro tossed the bag aside swiftly to reveal a book. 

“Can I help you?” someone said in a sincere and deliberate tone. 

The voice was calm and had a hint of fragility. Jiro’s heart nearly shattered with fright. Frozen and trapped, seeing only the silhouette of a man blocking the exit, Jiro quickly realized that he had been caught. 

“Well, I’ll be right out here tending to the fire and enjoying this lovely full moon. Have you seen how big it is tonight?”

Jiro could see the man’s silhouette shuffling down a little way to finally hunch over the orange and black embers of his former fire. The man started to alternate between blowing on the hot coals and adding small twigs from the neat pile he had stacked nearby, all while humming a gentle tune. 

The man’s relaxed demeanor and apparent lack of concern about Jiro’s presence allowed his brain to slowly thaw from the grip of fear. On the way up the mountain, he had imagined what it would be like to be caught. He had imagined a violent confrontation, but what was unfolding before him was nothing like that. 

He cautiously dipped his head low enough to exit the stone shelter. By now, the man was humming contentedly as he fanned the now growing flames of his fire. The wood must have been moist from the daily frost, as Jiro could hear the moisture hissing and popping underneath the flames. The light from the fire revealed more of the man’s appearance. He was elderly and wore a long white beard—so long that it appeared to touch the ground as he was kneeling while tending to the fire. 

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, sir,” Jiro said as he bowed his head. “I was simply searching for…”

“Something of value you could trade for rice and coal, I suppose,” said the old man matter-of-factly, without a hint of accusation. 

“I’m terribly sorry to have disturbed you. I really must leave you in peace,” replied Jiro, maintaining his bow. 

“I’m the one who should apologize,” exclaimed the old man. “I truly wish I had something of value you could have stolen. I know how unforgiving this season can be.” 

Jiro could now make out the man’s face quite clearly. He looked directly into Jiro’s eyes and it was clear that the man was speaking from true empathy. Growing unbearably uncomfortable by the situation, Jiro bowed once more, repeated his apology, and turned to walk away. 

He took just a few steps when he heard the old man call out. 

“Wait! The real treasure in our presence tonight is the glowing wonder of the moon—the same moon that connects us all. Those who came before us looked upon this same moon. Those who will come after us will look upon it again. Tonight, its light connects you and me. But, since I cannot give you the moon, I offer you these.”

Jiro turned around towards the now flourishing flames. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to this new illumination. By the time the man had finished speaking, Jiro’s eyes came into focus and he could see the man clearly, now standing upright, naked. 

The old man held both arms out offering his clothing in a neatly piled stack.

The end.

A short story about empathy

Empathy is easy when the subjects of our empathy are like us. If they look like us, come from the same place, speak the same language, it’s more natural to empathize with them. But we must make an effort to empathize with those who are different. This story shows that empathy is possible in all circumstances. It shows that we can be empathetic and compassionate even to those who attempt to harm us. It is not a weakness to be kind to friends and foe alike, but a strength.

There was a young man, restless by nature, who entered a new town looking for a place to settle down and begin anew his life. Upon his arrival, he went to the local monastery and asked to see the abbot, an old man both venerable and wise.

He asked the abbot, ‘What are the people like in this town?’

The old man paused a moment and then asked the young man, ‘What were people like in the last town that you lived in?’

The young man replied, ‘Oh, they were horrible folk: greedy and lustful and mean spirited!’

The abbot replied, ‘That is exactly what people are like in this town.’

And so the young man moved on from town to town and never found a home to settle down.

A few days later, another young man entered the town looking for a place to settle down and like his predecessor, sought out the advice of the venerable old abbot. ‘What are people like in this town?’, he asked.

‘What were people like in the last town that you lived in?’ asked the abbot.

The young man replied, ‘Oh, they were kind and generous and filled with the joy of living. They were wonderful folks!’

The abbot replied, ‘That is exactly what people are like in this town. You are in luck!’

And so the second young man settled down in the town, married, raised his children and lived a long and happy life.

A short story about perception

There is an old Buddhist saying that goes something like this: ‘Other people appear as pigs in the eyes of a pig, whereas, other people appear as Buddhas in the eyes of a Buddha.’ If we are always looking for and expecting the worst from people, that is exactly what we will see, what we will get back. On the other hand, if we make an effort to always look for the good in others, that is exactly what we will see in others and will get back. Our perceptions of others determine how we interact with them. If you treat others with kindness and respect, more often than not, you will receive kindness and respect back.

“It never hurts to think too highly of a person; often they become ennobled by it and act better because of it.”

– Nelson Mandela

Then it was as if I suddenly saw

The secret beauty of their hearts,

The depths of their hearts where neither

Sin nor self-knowledge can reach:

The core of their reality;

The person that each one is

In the eyes of the Divine.

If only they could all see themselves

As they really are.

If only we could all see each other

That way all the time.

There would be no more war,

No more hatred, no more cruelty;

No more greed!

I suppose the big problem would be that

We would all fall down worshipping each other.

– Thomas Merton

There was a young man in a small village that would pass by the local monastery every day on his way to work. He could not help but notice one monk in particular who was always working in the courtyard of the monastery and who always greeted him with a smile and a bow with a serene smile on his face. Often, he would meet the monk on his way back from the local well carrying water. The young man became curious about the older monk and his air of serenity.

One day, after exchanging the usual courtesies, the young man asked the monk, ‘Have you always been a monk?’ the monk replied, ‘Oh no, I only entered the monastery five years ago.’

‘What did you do before you became a monk?’ the young man inquired. ‘Oh, I chopped wood, carried water, and cooked’, replied the monk. ‘What do you do now?’ the young man asked.

‘Oh, my duties as a monk are to chop wood, carry water, and cook. Now I am extremely happy!’

‘But what is the difference?’ asked the young man.

‘Well, before I became a monk, when I chopped wood, I was always worrying about the water I had to carry. And when I was carrying water, I was always thinking and planning ahead about my cooking. But, now that I am a monk, when I chop wood, I chop wood. When I carry water, I carry water and when I cook, I cook. It is most enjoyable.’

A short story about contentment