Who Ordered This Truckload Of Dung - Perfection and Guilt - The Temple Garden

The Temple Garden

by Ajahn Brahm

Buddhist Temple in Japan are renowned for their garden. Many years ago, there was one temple that was said to have the most beautiful garden of all. Travelers would come from all over the country just to admire its exquisite arrangement, so rich in simplicity.


An old monk once came to visit. He arrived very early, just after dawn. He wanted to discover why this garden was considered the most inspiring, so he concealed himself behind a large bush with a good view of the rest of the garden.


He saw a young gardening monk emerge from the temple carrying two wicker baskets. For the next three hours, he watched the young monk carefully pick up every leaf and twig that had fallen from the spreading plum tree in the center of the garden. As he picked up each leaf, the young monk would turn it over in his soft hand, examine it, ponder over it; and if it was to his liking he would delicately place it in one of the baskets. If it wasn't to be of use to him, he would drop it in the second baskets, the rubbish basket. Having collected and thought over every leaf and twig, having emptied the rubbish basket on the pile at the rear of the temple, he paused to take tea and compose his mind for the next crucial stage.


The young monk spent another three hours, mindfully, carefully, skillfully, placing each leaf and twig just in the right place in the garden. If he wasn't satisfied with the position of a twig, he would turn it slightly or move it forwards a little until, with light smile of satisfaction, he would move on to te next leaf, choosing just the right shape and color for its place in the garden. His attention to detail was unparalleled. His mastery over the arrangement of color and shape was superb. His understanding  of natural beauty was sublime. When he was finished, the garden looked immaculate.


Then the old monk stepped out from behind his bush. Wearing a broken-toothed smile, he congratulated the young gardening monk, "Well done! Well done indeed, Venerable! I've been observing you all morning. Your diligence is worthy of the highest of praise. And your garden.... Well! Your garden is almost perfect."


The young monk's face went white. His body stiffened as if he had been stung by a scorpion. His smile of self-satisfaction slipped from his face and tumbled into the great chasm of the void. In Japan, you can never be sure of old grinning monks!


"What d....do... you mean?" he stuttered through his fear. "What do y...you mean, almost perfect?" and he prostrated himself at the old monk's feet. "Oh master! Oh teacher! Please release your compassion on me. You have surely been sent by the buddha to show me how to make my garden really perfect. Teach me, Oh Wise One! Show me the way!"
"Do you really want me to show you?" asked the old monk, his ancient face creasing with mischief.
"Oh yes. Please do. Oh please master!"


So the old monk strode into the center of the garden. He put his old but still strong arms around the leafy plum tree. Then with the laugh of a saint, he shook the hell out of that poor tree! Leaves, twigs and bark fell everywhere, and still the old monk shook that tree. When no more leaves would fall, he stopped.

The young monk was horrified. The garden was ruined. The whole morning's work was wasted. He wanted to kill the old monk. But the old monk merely looked around him admiring his work. Then with a smile that melts anger, he said gently to the young monk, "Now your garden is really perfect."

We're sometimes perfectionist in some way, without realized. Live a slower pace, notice what we do every second. 

Love Live!