Killing Monks

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These hands have wielded swords in the palace, carried alms bowls in the ascetic forest, and scooped water from the Niranjana River. Now, these hands hold nothing, carry nothing, and scoop nothing.

They were simply placed on their knees, palms up, fingers slightly curled, like two leaves fallen to the ground.

He suddenly found these hands beautiful. Not because they were white, not because they were tender, not because there was no dirt under their fingernails. It was because they were alive. And that was enough.

He stood up.

His legs were numb, terribly numb, like a million ants crawling in the cracks of his bones. He stood leaning against the tree trunk for a while, waiting for the numbness to subside.

A breeze blew from the east, carrying the fishy smell of the river and the fragrance of wildflowers. Under the tree, a group of ants were carrying a grain of rice. The rice was bigger and heavier than them. They carried it very slowly, taking two steps forward and one step back, but they didn't stop.

He looked at the ants for a while.

Then he laughed. Not at the ants, but at himself. It turned out the ants were also searching for answers. They just didn't realize they were searching.

Just like he didn't know he was looking for it before.

He left Gaya, heading north, west, east, and south. He walked slowly, unhurriedly, without rushing.

We stopped when we passed through the village and sat under a tree at the village entrance.

If someone asks, he answers. If no one asks, he just sits. What do they ask? They ask how to stop being troubled.

How can we stop worrying? Turn worries into wisdom.

How can we turn worries into wisdom? See them. Once you see them, they cease to be worries. You don't understand? That's okay, just listen slowly.

Some people understood and followed him; others didn't understand, called him a liar, and threw stones at him.

He wasn't angry, nor was he happy. A stone hitting you hurts, but the pain subsides. It's the same with worries.

He traveled from Magadha to Kosala, and from Rajagaha to Savatthi.

King Bimbisara awaited him at the gates of Rajagaha, accompanied by his son Ajatasatru, his ministers, and his army. King Bimbisara knelt before him and said, "Venerable Sir, I have attained enlightenment."

He didn't ask King Bimbisara what he had realized, and King Bimbisara didn't say. He simply patted King Bimbisara's head and said, "Excellent."

Later, Ajatasatru also knelt before him and said, "Venerable One, I have attained enlightenment."

He looked into Ajatasatru's eyes, and there was something familiar in those eyes—a kind of fire.

He did not ask Ajatasatru what he had realized, nor did Ajatasatru say.

He simply patted Ajatasatru's head and said, "Well done."

Fire is fire; touching it won't extinguish it. He knew that. But he still touched it. Because besides touching it, there was nothing else he could do.

Just like he couldn't change the dogs inside the palace walls and the people outside.

All he could tell them was: a dog is a dog, and a person is a person. Dogs have their troubles, and people have theirs.

Troubles are all the same. Once you see them, they cease to be troubles.

King Prasenajit of Shravasti invited him to dinner in the garden outside the city.

The rice was vegetarian, the vegetables were vegetarian, and the soup was vegetarian. King Prasenajit sat beside him, serving him food and refilling his soup, and asked, "Venerable Sir, you want nothing, so why do you still travel around?"

He said, "Because some people want to hear it." King Pasenadi then asked, "Aren't you afraid they won't understand?"

He said, "I'm not afraid." King Pasenadi said, "You really are..." He thought for a long time but couldn't think of a suitable word.

He didn't help King Prasenajit think of any words. Some words, you have to come up with yourself.

His disciples grew in number. Five hundred, a thousand, two thousand.

The ten most famous were known as the "Ten Great Disciples." Sariputra was foremost in wisdom, Maudgalyayana in supernatural powers, Mahakasyapa in asceticism, Ananda in learning... Each of them was first in their own way, each had their own strengths, and each possessed something that others could not match.

They followed him, sat with him, and talked with him under the tree.

Someone said, "Venerable One, please tell us about your past." He replied, "I have no past."

Someone said, "Venerable One, please tell us about your future." He replied, "There is no future."

Someone asked, "Venerable One, what are you now?" He thought for a moment and said, "Now? Now is now."

When he was eighty years old, he traveled to Kushinagar.

The city was small, with few people, low walls, and old gates, incomparable to the large cities he had seen in Rajagaha.

He sat down in the woods outside the city, leaning against a tree, facing west.

Ananda fanned him gently, afraid that if he fanned too hard, he would drive him away.

He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the fan in the wind, the rustling of the leaves, and the distant voices of people in the city. Those sounds were very far away, as far away as the sounds of the market he had heard in the palace when he was a child.

He was young then and didn't know what lay beyond the palace walls. Now he knows. Beyond the palace walls are still palace walls. Walls are different from one another, but a wall is still a wall.

A wall can't stop the wind, nor can it stop the sound. The wind will blow over the top of the wall, and the sound will seep through the cracks.

People do too. People can squeeze through cracks in walls. Not their bodies, but something else. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Some things are hard to explain, like how you can't explain what a tree is to an ant. An ant might spend its whole life climbing a tree and still not know what a tree is. But a tree is a tree. Whether you know it or not, it's still a tree.

"Ananda." He opened his eyes.

Ananda leaned closer, his eyes red-rimmed. "Venerable One."

"I'm leaving."

Ananda's tears fell, one drop, two drops, onto the fan, patter, patter. "Venerable One, you're gone, what will we do?"

"I'm leaving, and you're all just you now..." Joe said finally.

His voice was very soft, like the wind blowing across the water, leaving a faint ripple, and then the water calmed down and there was nothing left.

Ananda knelt on the ground, his forehead pressed against the soil, listening to the ripples spreading out little by little until finally, he could hear nothing at all.

There was only the wind, only the leaves, and the occasional bark of a dog from the distant city of Kushinagar.

He looked up and saw that the corners of Joe's mouth were slightly upturned, as if he was smiling, or as if he had no expression at all.

He watched for a long time, watching the sun set in the west, watching the shadows of the trees lengthen, watching the clouds on the horizon change from white to red, from red to purple, from purple to gray, and finally until there were no colors left.

He slowly stood up, his knees already numb from kneeling. His legs felt like two wooden stakes; when you tapped them, they made a thumping sound, and he felt nothing.

Joe is gone.

They are still here. Ananda stood under the tree, looking at the tree where Joe had sat. The tree was no different from the other trees; its trunk was brown, its leaves were green, it rustled in the wind, and it got wet when the rain fell.

But he felt that the tree was different.

It's not the tree that's changed, it's the tree itself that's changed.

His perspective on trees has changed. Before, when he looked at trees, they were just trees, and had nothing to do with him. Now, when he looks at trees, they are still just trees, but he always feels that the trees are looking at him.