Once there was a young monk whose soul was as restless as the waves of a storm-tossed sea. He had read much about “enlightenment” and heard that it was like a mighty wind that sweeps away the old and clears the soul. He wanted to possess this state at any cost. One night, when a powerful storm swept across the mountains, he ran out into the darkness. In his hands he carried a delicate paper lantern. He believed that if he ran fast enough and opened the lantern at just the rig

A student asked Master Weizhen: “Why do we care for the bodyif everything is impermanent?” “He is like a mandala, ” said Weizhen.“We spend hours, days, sometimes even weekscreating an almost perfect mandala.But when it is finished,we offer it to the riverand let it dissolve.” The student was confused. “Why all this effortif it is destroyed?” The master replied: “Precisely because it passes,we care for it.This is the practice of life.” Then he continued: “This body is my manda

When Thich Nhat Hanh was still a young novice,one evening he was polishing the temple bell. The rain began — softly at first, then heavier. He listened as the drops fell on the roof, uneven yet harmonious in their rhythm. His hand moved in the same flow, his breath followed the sound. In that moment, everything merged —rain, sound, breath, movement. He no longer perceived any separation between himself and what was happening. There was only doing — and complete presence. Late