Blah, blah, blah
A young monk who was intent on reaching nirvana in this life was meditating in solitude on an island just off the coast of a well-known monastery. When one of the monastery attendants rowed to the island to bring the young monk some provisions he needed, the young monk gave the attendant a message to pass on to his master, asking for a quill and ink and a sheet of parchment. The young monk had spent three years on the island and wanted to inform the master of his progress. He then spent some time meditating and pondering long and hard, and wrote down the following poem on the parchment.
After three years of solitary meditation
the things of this world
can no longer move
this conscientious young monk.
He was convinced that, on seeing these beautifully painted symbols, the wise old master would acknowledge that his pupil had truly achieved a state of enlightenment. He rolled up the parchment, tied it with ribbon and gave it to the monastery attendant. He imagined how happy the master would be to read his poem. He could see it being hung in a frame on one of the monastery walls. He might even be appointed the next master of the famous monastery.
The following week, the monastery attendant returned and gave the monk a scroll similar to the one the monk had sent his master but tied with a different ribbon. 'From the master', said the attendant tersely. With a feeling of excitement, the monk tore off the ribbon and smoothed out the scroll. As soon as he saw what was written, his eyes grew wide and his face turned ashen. It was his own scroll. At the end of each line, the master had written the words 'blah, blah, blah'. This was too much for the monk! Not only was the old master unable to recognise enlightenment, he had also tarnishedthe poem with his scrawny handwriting. The monk's eyes narrowed with anger, his face turned beetroot red and he demanded that the attendant take him to the master straightaway. For the first time in three years he was leaving the island. He arrived at the monastery full of rage, slammed the scroll down in front of the master and demanded an explanation. The old master slowly picked up the parchment, cleared his throat and read the poem out loud:
After three years of solitary meditation
the things of this world
can no longer move
this conscientious young monk.
He then put down the parchment, peered at the young monk and said: 'Hm …, so the things of this world can no longer move you, yet three small blahs have driven you from the island.'
* Food for thought
Many people overestimate themselves with a lot of blah-blah-blah about what they can actually do.
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