The Monkey Bridge and the Lesson of Stillness

The afternoon air in Tra On, Phuc Hau village was thick with the scent of fresh mud and ripening rice. Before me lay a small ditch, its black water flowing sluggishly, but what truly seized my heart was not the stream. It was the bridge crossing it. It was merely a single, aged, slender bamboo trunk, laid precariously from one bank to the other. There were no handrails, no guardrails, just one lone pole suspended between the two sides.

I stood frozen, my feet nailed to the ground. Accustomed to the smooth asphalt of Saigon, this 'monkey bridge' felt more alien and frightening than any complex passage in the scriptures. Behind me, my teacher, the Most Venerable monk, also paused. His gaze was calm, fixed on some distant point. The laywomen accompanying us, however, had begun to worry, whispering among themselves about how to cross this treacherous bamboo trap.

"Venerable Sir, I... I cannot," I stammered, my voice trembling. The fear did not come from falling into the water, but from the feeling of complete loss of bodily control on such a narrow, slippery surface. I thought: "If I close my eyes and make a desperate dash, would I be safe? Or would I slip and fall with a splash?"

The Venerable One smiled gently, without urging me, offering only a brief sentence steeped in wisdom: "Do not be agitated. When the mind is not agitated, the feet will be steady."

Those words were like a beam of light piercing the fog in my mind. I took a deep breath, trying to focus all my senses on the only anchor I had—my bare feet touching the rough bamboo bark. I decided to stop looking down at the water and to look only straight ahead toward the opposite bank. The first step I took made the bamboo creak, the bridge sagging under my weight. My heart pounded, but I reminded myself: "Be calm. Don't think of falling. Just think of the next step."

Step by step, I moved slowly but with resolution. The delicate sense of balance was clear with each small shift of my body, but instead of panic, I found an extraordinary clarity. When my feet finally touched the solid earth on the other side, I turned to look at my teacher. He was still standing there, waiting. I walked back across, and this time, instead of the initial fear, I felt a curious desire to help. I reached out, firmly grasping my teacher's thin arm, and guided him across the bridge with ease. After that, we received the laywomen, each taking one careful step, slowly and deliberately, and all crossed safely.

Following that event, I realized that true stillness is the key to courage. Courage is not the absence of fear, but maintaining mental steadfastness when facing it. I recalled another memory at the temple, when I had to cross a lotus pond to clean weeds on an island in the middle. The only means were long, waterlogged bamboo bundles floating on the surface. Stepping onto them, water would splash, and the bundles would sink and then resurface, creating a highly precarious platform. But thanks to the lesson from the monkey bridge, I kept my mind still, walked with sure steps, and completed the task without falling, while many other monks, whose minds were agitated, slipped.

These small experiences taught me that our inner world is far more powerful than we imagine. When we eliminate the chaos in our thoughts, we uncover a hidden source of energy that helps us overcome both physical and mental obstacles. This is the foundation of 'Heroic Strength' – the courageous power needed to do good in everyday life.

**The Meaning of the Story**

Courage, or Heroic Strength, in Buddhism is not merely bold recklessness. It is the ability to maintain a steady spirit, to remain unshaken before challenges and dangers in order to perform good deeds. This courage springs from a strong, tranquil inner core. When the mind is unagitated, actions become precise and effective, helping us overcome adversity to protect and assist others.

*Compiled from a dharma talk by Most Venerable Thich Chan Quang.*