The Wooden Man Watching Birds

One afternoon, at a corner of a small provincial market, pale golden sunlight spread across the sidewalk as a girl sat selling flowers in front of a small stall. Her eyes were wide open but vacant, staring straight ahead yet seeing nothing. People bustled past, the sounds of vendors and traffic filling the air, but for her, the world was only a dense, impenetrable darkness. She had been blind since childhood, not because her eyes were damaged, but because of an illness within, where the optic nerves had ceased to function. She could still hear, still smell, still touch, but she could never see the form of the rose she held in her hands.

Day after day, she sat there, selling the fresh flowers that people brought to her. She lived in poverty, scraping by, yet her heart never ceased to hope. One day, she overheard someone say that with money for an operation, she might be able to see. She embraced that dream like a faint glimmer of light in the midst of her deep darkness.

A young man, plainly dressed, often passed by her flower stall. He was poor as well, but seeing the pitiable girl, an indescribable compassion arose in his heart. An idea came to him: whenever a car parked nearby, he would run over and pretend he had just stepped out of it, then buy her flowers at a higher price than usual. He wanted her to believe he was a man of means, so she would not worry about her flowers going unsold.

One afternoon, after buying flowers, he lingered to chat. Hearing his warm voice, the girl opened her heart: "Actually, my eyes aren't damaged. I'm sick inside. If I had money for an operation, I would be able to see." He asked, "How much?" Hesitantly, she named a figure, a sum far too large compared to the meager earnings he made from his daily manual labor. He fell silent, his heart heavy.

That night, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The image of the girl sitting at her flower stall with those vacant eyes kept appearing in his mind. He thought, "What can I do to help her?" He knew he lacked the means, but compassion urged him to find a way. Then his thoughts turned to quick ways to get money, to things that were not right or honest. He was torn between his conscience and the urge to help. In the end, he chose a wrongful path, knowing full well it was wrong. He told himself, "I'm only doing this to help her. It will be all right."

He obtained a large sum of money and brought it to the girl. Receiving it, she wept with joy, not knowing how to thank him. She said, "You are my benefactor. I will never forget your kindness." She raised her hands and gently touched his face to remember its shape, as a way of engraving it into her memory. He stood still, his throat tight with emotion, then quietly walked away.

After that, his life fell into disarray. Because of that ill-gotten money, he became entangled in countless troubles; he had to flee, to live in constant insecurity. Only after many years could he return to the old place. He went looking for the flower girl of years past. When he arrived, he saw a beautiful flower shop, and the girl of those years now had bright, seeing eyes, smiling warmly at everyone. She had a husband and a happy life. He stood watching from a distance, his heart both joyful and sorrowful. He stepped inside and pretended to ask about buying flowers. Hearing his voice, the girl suddenly froze. She recognized her benefactor at once. She rushed over, touched his face, and realized he was indeed the one who had given her the money for her eye operation all those years ago. But she was utterly astonished: the benefactor she had imagined as wealthy, arriving by car, now stood before her in tattered clothes, worn and haggard. She asked, "You are the one who gave me the money for my eye operation, aren't you?" He turned his face away, unable to look at her, then hurriedly ran off. She stood there bewildered, not understanding why.

Her husband came out, and seeing his wife standing frozen, asked, "What's wrong? Who was that?" She shook her head and said nothing, only feeling an indescribable sadness rising in her heart. She still remembered the image of her benefactor through her sense of touch, through his voice, but she could not understand why his life had become so full of hardship.

This story invites us to reflect on the nature of knowing. Only when the girl's optic nerves were restored could she see. Her seeing was the result of a combination of the eye, external objects, and the optic nerves. If any one of these three elements were lost, seeing would vanish. But that seeing is only a shallow kind of knowing, the knowing of the senses. There is another kind of knowing, deeper, which the Zen masters call intuition. It is a knowing that does not pass through language, does not pass through the senses, but is an understanding from mind to mind.

People often confuse seeing with looking. Seeing is passive; we open our eyes and we see, without needing to pay attention. Looking, however, is intentional, focused, deliberate. Seeing belongs to the aggregate of consciousness, while looking belongs to the aggregate of mental formations. When we look, we begin to reason, calculate, and imagine, and that is when our mind becomes entangled. The Zen masters are different. They see but do not look; they know but do not brood. They are like a wooden man gazing at a painting of a bird, or a stone maiden dancing. They have no emotional stirrings, no reasoning, no entanglement. They simply see, simply know, and that is all.

That is the realm of the practitioner, of those who have attained purity of heart. They are no longer governed by wandering thoughts, no longer swept away by fleeting emotions. They live in peace and ease, in the midst of the bustling world.

The meaning of the story

Our knowing does not come only through the senses; there are deeper layers, such as intuition. As we practice, we need to learn letting go of reasoning and calculating, so that the mind becomes pure like the surface of a still lake, reflecting everything clearly without entanglement. That is the path to liberation, to true peace and happiness.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang