Whose Fence Is It? A Lesson on Possessions and the Self

In the temple grounds, the rhythmic sound of a mortar pounding rice blended with the cheerful songs of birds. Two elderly nuns, longtime companions in practice, took a break to drink tea and chat. The late afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, casting patches of light and shadow across the red basalt earth.

The first nun set down her teacup and sighed heavily. Her face was furrowed, her brows knitted tight, clearly showing the frustration she had carried all day long. She spoke of how the neighbor’s chickens kept scratching up her fence, scattering dirt and breaking vines. This sight made her so angry that she could not eat, nor could she focus on her sutras.

To her, the fence was not just a barrier but a symbol of ownership, effort, and pride. Each scratch from the chicken felt like a knife cutting into her ego. She detailed every damaged bamboo slat and every ruined vegetable patch, noting even the neighbors’ complaints about her irritation.

The second nun listened attentively, her face remaining gentle and calm. She smiled softly, poured more tea for her friend, and asked a simple question: "It scratched the fence, did it scratch you? Why are you angry?"

This brief remark was sharp as a sword, cutting through the thread of afflictions. The first nun fell silent, stunned by the insight. She realized her suffering did not come from the chicken, but from her mind’s attachment to the idea that "this fence is MINE." When possessions were touched, the self felt invaded, leading to hatred.

The Buddha's teachings remind us that possessions are a heavy attachment for humans, especially those built with sweat and tears. People often value money and material things more than life itself. When loss occurs, they feel pain and rage. However, practitioners who do not gradually let go remain imprisoned in the vortex of possession.

The second nun shared her own practice. She contemplates that everything arises from conditions and is impermanent. The fence will rot, the chickens will die, and she too will leave this world. By separating herself from the concept of ownership, events become lighter. The chicken scratching is the chicken’s business; the broken fence is the fence’s business. Because her mind does not cling, there is no place for hatred to reside.

This small story from an afternoon offers a great lesson: the peace of a practitioner is proportional to their ability to let go of possessions. From the body to wealth, and then to reputation, these are all layers covering the self. The more we cling, the more vulnerable we become. The more we let go, the freer we are.

The Meaning of the Story

This tale compares two attitudes toward the same event—the chickens scratching the fence—to highlight the root cause of anger: attachment to possessions. When we view property as "mine," any intrusion feels like an attack on the self, causing distress. Practitioners must learn to release this grip on material things to achieve tranquility and freedom amidst life’s changes.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Most Venerable Thich Chan Quang