Maintaining one’s concentration
For the warrior of the light, nothing is abstract. Everything is concrete, and everything concerns him. He is not sitting in the comfort of his tent, observing what goes on in the world. The warrior of the light accepts each challenge as an opportunity to transform himself.
Some of his companions spend their lives complaining about the lack of choice, or commenting decisions which do not concern them. The warrior, however, turns thought into action.
Sometimes he errs his objective, and pays - without complaining - the price for his mistake. At other times, he strays from the path, and loses much time returning to his original destiny.
But a warrior is never distracted.
Archive for the 'Stories' Category
During my stay at a castle rented by a Brazilian magazine, a local journalist came to interview me. During the conversation, which was being watched by other people, he wanted to know:
- What is the best question a reporter has ever asked you?
The best question? I thought I’d been asked just about EVERY question, except for the one he just put. I asked for a moment to reflect, to study the many things I wanted to say but was never asked. But in the end I had to confess:
- I think it was yours. I’ve had questions I’ve refused to answer, others which allowed me to talk about interesting subjects, but yours was the only one I cannot possibly answer sincerely.
The journalist made a note, then said:
- I’ll tell you an interesting story. Once, I went to interview Jean Cocteau. His house was piled high with bibelots, paintings, drawings by famous artists, books, Cocteau kept everything, and felt a deep love for all those things. So anyway, during the interview, I decided to ask him: “if the house caught fire right now, and you could only take one thing with you, what would you choose?”
- And what did Cocteau say? - asked Alvaro Teixeira, who was in charge of the castle, and a great follower of the life of the French artist.
- Cocteau said: “I’d take the fire”.
And we sat there in silence, applauding deep down in the most intimate corners of our hearts, the brilliant reply.
In the newspaper, a text I cut out and place on my briefcase. The author is W. Timothy Gallway:
“When we plant a rose seed in the earth, we notice it is small, but we do not criticize it as “rootless and stemless.” We treat it as a seed, giving it the water and nourishment required of a seed.
“When it first shoots up out of the earth, we don’t condemn it as immature and underdeveloped, nor do we criticize the buds for not being open when they appear. We stand in wonder at the process taking place, and give the plant the care it needs at each stage of its development.
“The rose is a rose from the time it is a seed to the time it dies. Within it, at all times, it contains its whole potential. It seems to be constantly in the process of change: Yet at each state, at each moment, it is perfectly all right as it is.
“A flower is not better when it blooms than when it is merely a bud; at each stage it is the same thing — a flower in the process of expressing its potential.”
At the end of ten years of apprenticeship, Zenno thought he should be elevated to the category of Zen master. One rainy day, he went to visit the famous professor Nan-in.
Upon entering Nan-in’s house, the host asked him:
- Did you leave your shoes and umbrella outside?
- Of course - replied Zenno. - As good manners demand. I would do the same anywhere.
- Then tell me: did you place your umbrella to the right or the left of your shoes?
- I’ve no idea, master.
- Zen Buddhism is the art of total consciousness of what we do - said Nan-in. - The lack of attention to the smallest details can completely destroy a man’s life. A father who rushes out of the house, must never forget the dagger within his small son’s reach. A Samurai who doesn’t take care of his sword every day, will at some point find it is rusty, just when he most needs it. A young man who forgets to give his lover flowers, will end up losing her.
And Zenno understood that, although he knew the Zen techniques of the spiritual world, he had forgotten to apply them to the world of men.
Near Tokyo lived a great Samurai warrior, now old, who decided to teach Zen Buddhism to young people. In spite of his age, the legend was that he could defeat any adversary.
One afternoon, a warrior - known for his complete lack of scruples - arrived there. He was famous for using techniques of provocation: he waited until his adversary made the first move and, being gifted with an enviable intelligence in order to repair any mistakes made, he counterattacked with fulminating speed.
The young and impatient warrior had never lost a fight. Hearing of the Samurai’s reputation, he had come to defeat him, and increase his fame.
All the students were against the idea, but the old man accepted the challenge.
All gathered on the town square, and the young man started insulting the old master. He threw a few rocks in his direction, spat in his face, shouted every insult under the sun - he even insulted his ancestors. For hours, he did everything to provoke him, but the old man remained impassive. At the end of the afternoon, by now feeling exhausted and humiliated, the impetuous warrior left.
Disappointed by the fact that the master had received so many insults and provocations, the students asked:
- How could you bear such indignity? Why didn’t you use your sword, even knowing you might lose the fight, instead of displaying your cowardice in front of us all?
- If someone comes to you with a gift, and you do not accept it, who does the gift belong to? - asked the Samurai.
- He who tried to deliver it - replied one of his disciples.
- The same goes for envy, anger and insults - said the master. - When they are not accepted, they continue to belong to the one who carried them.
The warrior of the light sometimes behaves like water, flowing around the many obstacles he encounters.
At certain times, resistance means to be destroyed. At such times, he adapts to circumstances. He accepts, without complaint, that the rocks along the way forge his path down the mountains.
Such is the force of water: it can never be broken by a hammer, or wounded by a knife. The most powerful sword in the world is incapable of leaving a scar on its surface.
The water of a river adapts to the path which is possible, without forgetting its objective: the sea. Fragile at its spring, it gradually acquires the strength of the other rivers it encounters.
And, after a while, its power is absolute.
