Games, Tea, and EnlightenmentA Chapter by A Shared Narrative A man seeks wisdom from a guru in the mountains, who only wants to play children's games There was once a man who climbed a mountain, seeking a hermit monk and guru for his wisdom. He had crossed fields, forded rivers, and, of course, climbed a mountain to seek this guru.
The man finally discovered the guru’s cave, where the guru was deep in meditation. Not wanting to be rude, the man sat outside the cave and meditated in quiet, too. After some time passed, the man looked up from his own meditation to see the monk, sitting and smiling at the man.
The monk bowed his head as a gesture of welcome. The man bowed his in respect and joined the monk in front of the cooking fire in the cave. They both sat in a noble silence with the other.
After a period of this, the monk made a fist and held his arm straight out from his body, and towards the man. The man was confused, because the monk was smiling, and this fist was not an angry gesture or a threat.
“Play,” said the monk, who held his fist out steady.
The man did the same.
The monk slowly raised his arm, and nodded for the man to do the same. The puzzled man raised his arm, too. The monk did it a second time, and so did the man, who recognized the game the monk wanted to play.
A third time, both of their arms came down. The monk kept his fist tight, and the man’s fist turned into a two-fingered gesture. The monk smiled warmly, and softly chuckled as he tapped his closed fist on the man’s two fingers.
“Play,” said the monk, who held his fist out steady a second time.
The man responded to this request much faster, and held out his own fist. He did not cross fields, ford rivers, and climb mountains to play a game. This was a deep and profound wisdom the guru was imparting, the man was certain.
The man and the monk, now moved their hands up and down together three times. On the third time, the monk’s hand was a gesture of two fingers, and the man had stretched his hand out with his palm down. The monk smiled warmly, and softly chuckled as he tapped his two fingers on the man’s outstretched hand.
“Have you learned anything?” asked the monk.
“I am trying, but I do not understand what you are trying to teach me by playing a children’s game,” said the man.
“Play,” said the monk, who held his fist out steady a third time.
The man joined the monk, and put his fist out. They shook their hands up and down three more times. On the third time, the monk had stretched his hand out with his palm down. The man had chosen to keep his fist closed. The monk smiled warmly, and softly chuckled as he gently wrapped his open hand over the man’s closed first.
“Have you learned anything?” asked the monk.
The man thought for a minute, trying to analyze this profound lesson, but he could only guess at what this wise hermit was trying to teach him. He made a profound guess, and hoped it was right.
“That the hard work of a long journey is worth nothing if, at the end, we cannot still play and laugh as freely as a child?”
The monk laughed a deep laugh that came from the belly. It was a genuine laugh that was all mirth and no mocking. When he stopped laughing, the monk told the man, “The wisdom of a child is clear, deep, and simple. You are complicated.”
The monk got up from the man and went to a small shelf, fetching a two small cups. He checked a kettle that was over the fire. Turning to the man as he added tea leaves to the cups, the monk instructed the man, “Tell me the rules of the game.”
“Rock breaks scissors. Scissors cut paper. Paper covers rock.”
“And who won our game?”
“You did, guru.”
“How many times?”
“Three.”
The guru took the kettle off its hangar over the fire and poured hot water over the tea leaves in each cup, filling the man’s cup first. With the warm smile that had not left his face since the man began watching, the guru asked, “Did I?”
The man took his cup and thought in silence, sipping at his tea while his new teacher did the same. The man knew that the answer to the guru’s question was no, but he did not know why. He said so.
“No. You did not, but I don’t know why you did not.”
“Tell me the rules of the game.”
“Again: rock breaks scissors. Scissors cut paper. Paper covers rock.”
The monk drank his tea slowly, watching the man. The man was confused and frustrated. He was working very hard to think about a child’s wisdom, instead of thinking with a child’s wisdom. The monk knew the man was struggling, and waited with the patience of a hermit who lives in the mountains, for the man to say something.
“Play?” the man asked, holding out his fist in front of the monk.
The monk’s eyes shined with joy as he put his fist out for the man. They played the game. According to the man’s rules, he sometimes won, and the monk sometimes won, but the guru always corrected him with a very different score than he was keeping. The man identified when the guru changed the score compared to when he did.
“You only change the score when paper covers rock,” the man said.
“I do,” confirmed the monk.
The man went back to drinking his tea, and the monk his own. They sat for hours after the last question, the only sound being the cooking fire, and the water being poured into the cups for more tea. After the tea leaves no longer produced flavor, they both meditated and slept on their experience from the day.
In the morning, the man stood in the entranceway to the hermit monk’s cave again. With the cup holding fresh tea leaves and more hot water this morning, he watched the sun rise over the mountain peaks. He spoke to the monk who had joined him at the entrance, also with his own hot cup.
“I think I understand. You only won when there was no injury. Only when paper covers rock did you say you won.”
The monk said nothing, holding his cup in both hands, and bringing it to his mouth to sip while listening to the man.
“Paper covers rock. It does no harm, unlike the rock or the scissors. When paper covered rock, they both won, because no one was destroyed, even when one came out on top.”
The monk then took the cup from the man’s hands, and replaced it back in the cave along with his own. He came back to the man, at the entrance to the cave and held out his fist.
“Play,” said the monk.
The man joined the monk as they shook their hands three times in the air. The monk ended with his fist extended, and still closed. The man ended with his hand outstretched and palm down. As the monk did the day before to him, he wrapped his hands warmly around the monk’s hands.
“Thank you.”
The monk held the man’s hands in return, and then hugged the man. One last time, the monk instructed the man: “Go. Be like paper.”
# # # © 2016 A Shared NarrativeAuthor's Note
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3 Reviews  Last Updated on June 30, 2016 Tags: flash fiction, short story, flash, short stories, enlightenment, meditation, monk Author
A Shared NarrativeAboutI am mostly an on-demand writer. I respond to prompts and contests as an exercise to compel creativity in different ways. more..Writing
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