The Endless Dream of a Street Sweeper

On a late autumn afternoon, pale golden sunlight stretched across the old brick path before the temple gate. A man in his early thirties held a bamboo broom, slowly sweeping fallen leaves from the walkway. The rhythmic swish of the broom blended with the distant chime of the temple bell, creating a strangely peaceful sound. His name was Minh, and he had been hired to sweep this street for nearly ten years.

Minh was not born into the life of a sweeper. As a child, he dreamed of becoming a poet, writing romantic verses about the moon, stars, and love. But the demands of daily survival swept him away. With aging parents and a hungry family, Minh abandoned his unfinished dream and plunged into the world to earn a living. He did every kind of job: carrying loads, driving a motorbike taxi, mixing cement. In the end, he settled for this bamboo broom. “I am just a street sweeper,” Minh often told himself. “What dreams can I have? I only need to ensure my wife and children are fed.”

But today, something unusual happened. An elderly monk, wearing brown robes and barefoot, stepped out from the temple gate. The monk paused, looking at Minh for a long moment, then asked gently, “Child, do you have any dreams for your life?” Minh looked up, still holding his broom, his eyes bewildered. “Well… I only wish to sweep this road clean so that people can pass easily, Venerable Sir.” The monk smiled, his eyes shining with an extraordinary light. “Is that all? Do you not wish to do something greater?” Minh laughed bitterly. “Greater? Venerable Sir, I am just a sweeper. Dreaming of being a king or a prime minister is an illusion, madness. I only know this broom.”

The monk shook his head, his voice deep and warm yet heavy with meaning. “Child, ordinary beings often set limits for themselves. You see yourself as a sweeper, so you only dream of sweeping. But the mind and conduct of a Mahayana bodhisattva are different. A bodhisattva has no limits. Even sweeping the road can become the practice of a great teacher.” Minh froze. The broom slipped from his hand, clattering onto the bricks. “A bodhisattva? I… I am just a sinner. How dare I think of such a thing?”

“It is not about thinking of becoming a bodhisattva,” the monk said. “It is about thinking of placing no limits on your heart. You can sweep the road thoroughly and diligently. While sweeping, you can smile at everyone, pick up a falling leaf, and offer words of comfort to those who are sad. That is already the way of a bodhisattva. Follow the conditions (duyên) wherever they lead, without ambition, without illusion. Simply live fully for others, without limits.”

Minh fell silent, gazing into the distance. Inside him, a door seemed to open. He looked back at his life: the years spent chasing food and clothing, the small dreams buried under hardship, and now, an endless vision appearing before him. “But Venerable Sir,” Minh said, his voice trembling, “I am afraid. If I dream too big, I fear I will go mad, or that people will laugh at me.”

The monk placed his hand on Minh’s shoulder, his touch unusually warm. “An endless dream that is not an illusion exists because it lacks personal ambition. You do not dream of being a king to enjoy glory; you dream of serving the people. You do not dream of being a prime minister for fame; you dream of bringing peace. And if the conditions (duyên) only allow you to sweep the road, then sweep it with all your love. That road becomes a place of practice. Do you understand?”

Minh nodded, tears rolling down his cheeks. He bent down to pick up the broom, but this time, his grip was tighter, and his eyes shone with new faith. From that day on, Minh swept the road not just with labor, but with his whole heart. He smiled at every passerby, picked up trash, cleaned every corner, and sometimes stopped to talk with lonely elders, offering them comfort. The neighbors began to cherish him, calling him “Brother Minh the Bodhisattva.” Minh only smiled, refusing the title, but inside, he knew his dream was no longer limited. He could sweep the road, but his mind reached out endlessly, for each stroke of the broom was a vow: “Sentient beings are infinite; I vow to save them.”

Years later, when Minh was old, his hair white as snow, he still held that same bamboo broom. But the road he swept was no longer just the brick path before the temple; it was the spiritual path of countless people. He became a silent master, without rank or fame, possessing only a boundless heart, ready to do everything for sentient beings, even as just a street sweeper.

The Meaning of the Story

The mind and conduct of a Mahayana bodhisattva is an endless dream that is not an illusion, because it does not stem from personal ambition, but from altruism. When the selfish ego dissolves, all limits break apart. Every condition (duyên), however small, becomes an opportunity to serve sentient beings, without limit and without fatigue.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Most Venerable Thich Chan Quang