Two Star Apples and the Lesson of Feeling

One afternoon at the monastery, the sun had already set behind the old bamboo grove, leaving a cool breeze in its wake. A young novice sat on the stone steps, holding a green star apple with rough skin. He gazed at its sweet-sour color, chewing slowly with a smile as the tangy taste danced on his tongue. Yet he knew that two more fruits were hidden safely in his pocket, saved for late at night when everyone else was asleep.

The novice’s name was Minh, who had entered the temple only a few years prior. Growing up free in the countryside, he now struggled to adapt to the strict discipline of studying sutras and keeping precepts under his teacher’s guidance. Sometimes he felt bored and homesick, missing the afternoons spent flying kites with friends. However, he found small joys in these sour star apples, gifts occasionally sent by his mother. Thus, the two hidden fruits became a tiny treasure, a comfort amidst the rigorous days of practice.

As night fell, the chanting faded into silence, replaced only by the wind rustling through leaves and the steady snoring of his fellow monks. Minh lay on his wooden bed, eyes wide open, thinking of the two star apples tucked under his pillow. He imagined the refreshing sourness spreading across his tongue, the delicious sensation rising within him, preventing sleep. “I must wait until everyone is deeply asleep before I get up to eat,” Minh thought secretly, unable to suppress a smile. But then a sudden impulse flashed: “Why not eat them now? No, I must wait; it would be shameful if I were discovered.”

He waited patiently until the snoring of his brothers became rhythmic like drumbeats. Minh gently turned over and reached under his pillow. It was empty. He searched deeper, feeling around everywhere, but found nothing. His heart began to race, sweat beading on his forehead. “Did I drop them?” Minh hastily sat up, searching through the blankets, the pillow, and even under the bed. Still, there was no sign of the fruit. A surge of frustration rose, choking his throat. “Who took my two star apples?” Minh gritted his teeth, eyes glaring into the silent darkness, seeing nothing but shadows.

The next morning, while Minh sat sadly in class, his teacher entered holding a small piece of paper. The teacher looked at Minh and smiled kindly.

“Minh, did you sleep well last night?”

Minh lowered his head, stammering, “Yes, Teacher... I did not sleep well.”

The teacher handed the note to Minh. Written neatly upon it were the words: “Thank you for the two delicious star apples. – Your Brother.”

Minh froze, his face turning bright red. So, his brother had taken them. The initial anger suddenly transformed into embarrassment, followed by a fleeting sadness. The teacher looked at Minh and spoke gently.

“Do you see? When you ate the star apple, you felt pleasure; this is a feeling arising from external contact. When you lay in bed imagining its taste, you also felt pleasure; this is a feeling born from mental imagination. But when you could not find the fruit and felt angry, that too was a feeling, specifically a painful one. All these feelings arise and pass away, causing your mind to fluctuate. And a fluctuating mind, whether joyful or sad, is still suffering.”

Minh listened intently, as if the teacher’s words opened a new horizon. He recalled times he rejoiced in good food, only to fear losing it; times he felt sad when scolded, which eventually passed. All were feelings that bound him, disturbing his peace. Looking at his teacher, understanding dawned in his eyes.

“Teacher, how can I end this suffering?”

The teacher smiled and patted Minh’s head. “Practice observing your feelings objectively, adding nothing and subtracting nothing. When happy, know you are happy; when sad, know you are sad; when neither happy nor sad, know that clearly too. Do not cling to them, and do not let them lead your mind. This is how you escape the bondage of feelings.”

From that day on, Minh began practicing mindfulness of feelings. Whenever joy, sadness, or irritation arose, he remembered his teacher’s advice, looking directly at the sensation without chasing it or fleeing from it. Gradually, his heart grew lighter, less swept away by the ups and downs of emotion. He understood that true happiness does not lie in sweet or sour star apples, but in the equanimity and unshakable calm of the mind.

The Meaning of the Story

This tale of the two star apples teaches us to distinguish between internal and external feelings. We learn that all feelings, whether pleasant or unpleasant, are impermanence (anicca). They cause the mind to fluctuate and bind us to suffering (dukkha). By understanding this, we learn to observe feelings objectively without clinging, allowing the mind to rest in peace and liberation.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang