On the one year anniversary of their admittance to the monastery, the three boys were granted an audience with the head monk. They each hardly slept the previous night — constantly critiquing each other’s bows, practicing their entrance to the meditation halland rewriting their questions.
In the morning, the three boys lined up outside the hall. Their instructor opened the door and signaled the first boy in. The first boy entered slowly with his head down, took a precise bow and then sat in full lotus, before looking up at the great sage. The wise master looked down at the boy and asked, “What question have you prepared?”
The words struggled to come out at first, but the boy cleared his voice and tried again, “Venerable one, what must I do to attain enlightenment?”
Following a thoughtful pause, the master replied, “Clean your glasses.” The boy was embarrassed. He was always a diligent and serious child. He kept his room orderly and his robes were always folded, yet somehow, lack of tidiness was his flaw. The monk added, “Come back in a week and tell me what you have learned.”
The first boy left the meditation hall and went straight up to his dormitory. He began polishing his glasses. At first, he scrubbed them vigorously, out of frustration. Clean my glasses? I’m the cleanest one here. Over time, the boy calmed and his cleaning became more precise. He began to notice how cleaning helped him feel centered. Maybe that was the monk’s wisdom.
Once he’d cleaned his glasses, he set them aside and began cleaning his room, dusting his shelves, then remaking his bed. He cleaned for the next week. He missed meals and morning meditations, nature walks and dharma talks. When there were no more dust specks to be found in his own room, he began tidying the rooms of his peers, and soon after, he was cleaning the halls of the monastery.
After the first boy left the meditation hall, the second was invited in by their instructor. He, too, took measured steps, made a graceful bow and sat in full lotus awaiting the wisdom of the head monk. The wise sage again asked, “What question have you prepared?”
The second boy was much different than the first. He was thoughtful and creative; much more of a daydreamer than a busy bee. The second boy had an abstract mind that never settled for simple answers. His question was succinct and practiced, “Oh wise one, what is the right question?” The boy’s face revealed the pride of a student who had outwitted his teacher.
The monk hardly reflected on the question before replying. “The correct question is: How can I clean my glasses?” The boy was confused because he did not wear glasses. And even more, he was upset by the seemingly automatic response from the monk. Was his question so predictable that the great one didn’t even need to think?
Feeling cheated by the monk’s answer, the second boy waited for more. Finally, his instructor tapped him on the shoulder and signaled him out of the room. The second boy also returned to his dormitory and immediately opened his notebook. The words poured out of him, This so called venerable one. Maybe he’s losing his own vision. Or maybe, in his old age, his mind is simplifying and can’t handle serious inquiry.
Soon the boy’s writing settled and the words became less harsh. His mind drifted back to the question. Maybe my glasses are the way that I view the world. It occurred to him that his glasses were dirty because he was not viewing the world clearly.
This thought triggered the boy’s inquisitive mind. What is the right way to view the world? He stayed in his room for the next day reviewing his own notebooks from the past year. Once he’d exhausted his own notes, he moved to the study and pulled old manuscripts. The second boy spent the entire week by candlelight searching for the truth in the great teachings.
Finally, it was the third boy’s turn. He entered the room trying to keep his head down, but he had heard so many stories about the great monk, that he couldn’t help but sneak a glance. As soon as the boy looked up, however, he tripped over the mat and stumbled across the room. The boy scrambled to his feet and moved quickly to sit before the master. In his hurry, he forgot to bow. He stood back up and bowed violently and again tried to enter his full lotus position. The tension in his body was too crippling to allow his knees to lift.
Finally, the great monk broke the silence, “Your posture is just fine, my boy. Now tell me what question have you prepared for us?”
“Well, your greatness, I actually didn’t come up with a question,” answered the boy
“Oh really, did someone forget to tell you?” asked the monk
“No, my instructor told me, but as I thought about different questions to ask you, I realized that I still hadn’t answered the first question I was asked a year ago today.” replied the boy.
“How interesting — what question was that?” asked the monk.
“On our first day here, our instructor asked us, ‘How can you cultivate a clear mind and an open heart?’ Since I haven’t been able to answer that question yet, I thought it would be wrong to come up with another,” replied the boy.
The great monk nodded, “Very well, if that is the question you want to ask, then I’m happy to answer it for you. The way to cultivate a clear mind and an open heart is by cleaning your glasses.”
The third boy did not know what to do with the sage’s answer, but he graciously thanked the wise soul for his answer nonetheless. The boy returned to the teaching hall where his peers and instructors were waiting. His next week was spent just like the previous fifty-two. Zazen in the morning, followed by temple cleaning, breakfast in silence, lecture and practice in the afternoon and more zazen at night.
After a week had passed, the instructor gathered the three boys to see the head monk once again. The boys entered the room together and formed a crescent around the holy man.
The great teacher turned to the first boy and asked, “What have you learned since we last spoke?”
The first boy perked up, excited to share, “Well, great one, when you told me to clean my glasses, I was a bit taken aback. But because I trusted your wisdom, I went up to my room and I began cleaning my glasses. Soon I noticed that I actually get great joy out of cleaning — something about watching the external world progress from dirty to clean, strangely also makes me feel less chaotic internally. Once I had this revelation, I saw that I could give this small gift to others too. I began spending time in my neighbors’ rooms straightening up their things. It felt really wonderful to be able to give the gift of ease to others this week.”
The monk bowed to the boy, grateful for his insights. “What a wonderful realization you had. You have learned the ‘how’ of the world. All great action in the world must start inside of you, be perfected and then radiated outward. As a wise teacher once told me, ‘If you want to conquer the world, first conquer yourself.’ You have learned this lesson already. But by taking the world at surface value, you have missed the ‘why’ of the world. Without knowing why, you will find yourself forever racing down dead end paths paved in enjoyment” Turning to the second boy, the monk repeated his initial question.
The second boy was also eager to discuss the fruits of his days. “Your holiness, when you told me to clean my glasses, I knew, at once, that you must be speaking in metaphors. I spent this last week racing through my old notebooks and burying myself in sacred texts. Throughout these writings is the reminder that our worldview is full of illusions — illusions of our own importance, illusions of what we should desire and illusions of our innocence. I believe these illusions are the wrong glasses and I must constantly seek to find the right ones.”
The great monk nodded subtly as the boy finished. He then responded. “You must be an old soul, for wisdom of such depth is rare in one so young. You have learned the ‘why’ of the world. We poor souls are thrust into this world alone. We spend the days alone in our heads, watching scenes go by, believing that what we’re seeing is true. And why shouldn’t we? But it is the wisest among us who ask, ‘What if I’m wrong? What if this isn’t all about me? What if there’s freedom in acknowledging my errors?’ You are certainly the wisest among us, my child.” The boy beamed with delight. Then, the monk continued, “But by locking yourself off in the study and ignoring your practice, you have missed the ‘how’ of the world. You cleaned your glasses but they will do you no good in a cave, shut off from the world.”
Turning to the third boy, the monk asked a final time, “What have you learned since we last spoke?”
“Venerable one, since we talked, I’ve been viewing my whole self as a lens. When I look out at the world, I see beauty everywhere. Watching the elder monks’ morning procession or hearing the cacophony of the evening kitchen, I can’t help but think what a joy it is to be in this place. And I can only hope that I can let as much of that grace and beauty flow through me as possible. It hasn’t been easy. I know that I have my smudges — I’m always so hard on myself. But I focused extra hard this week to give myself love and that’s helped me rub that smudge out. I’m sure it will come back again tomorrow, but I’ll just keep polishing. I also know that I have my cracks — especially since we lost my father. Before last week, anytime I thought of him, I could only see sadness. But now I know that I’m just looking through a crack in the lens. It’s given me the faith to know that the world can still be beautiful, even when it’s hard to see.”
The monk flashed the first smile that the boys had yet seen. Looking at all of them, he said, “You are the glasses through which the universe sees. It’s beauty is already shining through you. Let it through.”
Bravo, that was well written and thought out. The final answer, what it means to me is that each of us, even the baby just born, is equally important.
Thank you for reading it, Arthur!