The Golden Tree Loses Its Support

In a small temple in the countryside, the late afternoon was strangely serene. The pale golden sunlight stretched across the brick courtyard. The evening bell had just fallen silent, leaving a deep stillness behind. A young disciple, his face full of worry, hurried towards the room of his head monk. He had just discovered that more than a tael of gold, which had been offered, had vanished from the wooden cabinet.

He knocked softly on the door and entered. The old monk was sitting in meditation, his eyes half-closed, his manner utterly serene. The disciple sat down, his voice unable to hide his sense of loss.

"Venerable Master, recently someone offered more than a tael of gold. I stored it in the cabinet in the side room. Yet this morning, it is gone."

The old monk slowly opened his eyes and looked at the disciple with a calm gaze. The small room held only the gentle chirping of a sparrow outside the porch. The disciple continued, his voice full of agitation:

"More than a tael of gold is a very great sum in this village, Venerable Master. I do not know who took it. I have searched everywhere but cannot find it."

The lips of the old monk moved slightly, and then a short sentence, calm yet full of weight, resounded:

"Before you had that gold, you were living just fine, weren't you, my child?"

Just one sentence. It was like an unexpected ray of light piercing through the chaos in the disciple's mind. He was stunned. All the frantic searching, the agitation, and the regret seemed to dissolve. He suddenly realized: money comes and money goes. Was it used for Buddhist endeavors? If not, then so be it. Whoever took it bears their own karma and must endure its consequences. My own mind remains unmoved, not overly attached to searching, not consumed by the hunt. I can live gently and peacefully, passing through.

He stood up, pressed his palms together in recollection of the Buddha, and walked out of the room. The afternoon was still peaceful, but in his heart, there was now an immense lightness. His master's words had helped him awaken: wealth comes and goes. What matters is a mind at peace, not swayed by things of impermanence.

The Meaning of the Story

This story illustrates the difference between a true practitioner and an ordinary person. A practitioner who has cultivated genuine spiritual strength often speaks little, yet each word is incisive and to the point, helping the listener to awaken immediately. The old monk needed only a single, concise sentence, which contained profound wisdom about the impermanent nature of material things and the peace of the inner heart. This reflects the qualities of a practitioner: silent, humble, yet always possessing a clear vision and words spoken at the right moment.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang