On the quiet evening in the small Himalayan town sat a monk. He was sitting in the lotus position next to a small bodhi tree. As he meditated his breath matched the wind so much that he was in tune with it. He did not care to take in the magnificent scenery of the Himalayan Mountains as the dimly dark reddish orange sun rested between two mountain peaks. The sky was a swirl of blue, dark blue, purple, orange and red. On the east the twinkling twilight was setting in, the stars winking in the distance. The monk did not care for the ripe of life and all its glitter. For one, the monks of his monastery saw this view that travelers marveled at every evening. And two, to him life was a cycle of suffering because of wants and desires, which he dedicated himself to renouncing in order to gain spiritual contentment. He sat perched on a small round tree stump and continued to try and reach nirvana.
“Oh my fellow brother monk” says the Buddhist traveler, “You are on the old path to enlightenment, I see.” The meditating monk slowly opened one eye. “There is only one path,” he said. He closed his eye and began again to search for contentment. The Buddhist traveler introduced himself. “I am Mahayana Gandhar, a merchant traveler by day and a demigod by night.” The meditating monk didn’t speak. “Ah! Brother, I see you are still denying that the self exists.”
Mahayana was unbothered by the meditating monk’s state. He then called attention to his clothes. “Ah! Brother monk, I see you are in need of a new robe. You could probably use some new sandals as well.” The meditating monk had on his goldish yellow robe. It had slight tears on his sleeves and neck line. It had no designs and was made of wool and not silk. It was faded, well washed, and had been worn many times. It was the only one he had. The monk remained silent. “Brother monk, if you were to look at my magnificent robe you would want one for yourself. Why deny yourself the finer things of life?” Mahayana had the finest silk robe, straight from China. It had yellow embroidered designs of vines and leaves on it. It was also scented with frankincense and myrrh.
“Ah! Brother monk, let me prove to you that I am also on the same path”, said Mahayana. “For I am a vehicle for nirvana. I show people the way every day. I teach them to have spiritual contentment while they enjoy the finer things of life”. Mahayana looked at the meditating monk’s seat and frowned with disgust. He saw he was sitting on a tree stump but had nothing under him. Mahayana could not stomach sitting on the other stump next to the meditating monk without something under him. As he walks to his caravan to get a plush cushion to sit on and a bodhisattvas figurine of a well-dressed Buddha that he normally meditates with, he looked up at the view. He himself was enchanted with the beautiful picturesque mountains and the magnificent sky. He shook his head and looked back at the meditating monk. “He does not care for sunsets nor does he have any images to worship the Buddha,” he said to himself. “What a pity.”
Mahayana returned to the monastery where the meditating monk was. He was still breathing nice and slow. It had been at least 15 minutes now and the meditating monk had only said the words “There is only one path.” “Brother monk, I have returned.” said Mahayana. “I don’t know how you can resist taking in this magnificent view.” He placed his plush green embroidered velvet cushion on top of the other tree stump next to the meditating monk’s and sat down. He then sat the same way in the lotus position. He sat his miniature Buddha across from him. He began to breathe. “I have had several opportunities to reach nirvana, brother monk, but I have refrained from doing so, so that I may lead others to the path.” Mahayana assured the meditating monk. The meditating monk slowly opened one eye and very subtly told Mahayana, “Dear brother Mahayana, how is it you can ever reach nirvana with all of your worldly attachments and the love that you have for your possessions?” Mahayana sat silent for a brief moment. “Many times over I could have reached spiritual contentment. I literally have no worries; no worries at all”. Again, he assured the meditating monk.
By this time the meditating monk had already gone back into his state. Mahayana focused on his breathing. The up and down, the rising and the falling. He saw himself as an objective observer in his past business dealings. He replayed conversations in his head and didn’t engage or interrupt his thinking. He saw nothing. He was nothing. He was at peace.
The meditating monk had reached a state of astral projection as he sat on top of the clouds over the Himalayan Mountains. His body was in a juncture where the two worlds meet. One version of him sat on the tree stump, the other sat on top of clouds. As he breathed in and out, inhaling and exhaling, he began to smell smoke. The same smell Mahayana had on, he smelt in the air with the burnt smell of cloth. The meditating monk had no wants or needs of his own. He truly had no worries at all. He could stay in this state as long as he wanted. His food and water would be brought to him by inspired monks and travelers.
The meditating monk decided he would go back to his body for Mahayana, but only to teach him the way. He slowly opened one eye and looked at Mahayana. A handsome clean shaven brown man with a bald head and the finest robe he had ever seen. “Dear Mahayana, my brother traveler, I do not wish to interrupt but I think your caravan is on fire.”
Mahayana was an experienced meditator. On that aspect he was truly sincere. He did not smell the smoke until the meditating monk said something about it. Mahayana’s eye lids opened so fast as if they were never closed. As if he was never at peace and that peace never existed. He got up, and in a sprint, took off running towards his caravan. By this time the meditating monk had gone back into astral projection. Sitting on top of the Himalayan Mountains, he breathed in and out, slow and steady, and with each breath he said to himself in each heart beat, “There is only one path.”
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