The Sadness of the Delicious Cake

One afternoon in a quiet hermitage, the sound of a bell rang softly and then faded away. A young monk sat by a small wooden table, holding a cup of tea, his eyes gazing out at the sunlit courtyard. Yet his heart was not at peace. A quiet sadness rose within him, not because of anything great, but only because of a cake.

It had happened a few days earlier. Someone had sent him a bag of fragrant cakes, a special kind he had never tasted before. By nature he was generous, often sharing gifts and treats with his fellow monks. But this time, as he looked at the bag of cakes, a thought flashed through his mind: "These cakes are so delicious, I will save them to enjoy slowly. If I share them with others, there will be less for me." So he quietly tucked the bag of cakes into a corner of the cupboard in his room, telling no one.

Each day, he took out one cake and savored it alone. The feeling was delicious, yet there was something... uneasy about it. But he pushed the feeling aside, telling himself: "It's nothing, such a small matter." Gradually the bag emptied, until the cakes were all gone. As the last cake melted on his tongue, he suddenly looked into his own heart. A gnawing remorse began to creep in.

That night, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The image of his fellow practitioners kept appearing in his mind, those who shared every meal and every hour of practice with him day after day. He asked himself: "How could I be so selfish? I had a delicious cake and did not dare share it with anyone, hiding it away to eat alone." Tears rolled silently down his cheeks. He saw how small-minded he had been.

The next morning, meeting a close friend among the monks, he could not hide it any longer and confessed: "There is something I must tell you. I feel so ashamed." His friend looked at him and asked: "What is it that troubles you so deeply?"

The monk sighed: "Someone gave me a bag of delicious cakes, and I hid them and ate them all alone, without sharing with anyone. Thinking back now, I feel terrible."

His friend smiled gently: "Everyone has moments like that. What matters is that you recognize your fault and feel sincere remorse."

The monk nodded, but his heart was still unsettled: "I wish I had not been so greedy at that moment. If only I had brought the cakes out for everyone to share."

That very thought of "if only," like a small flame, lit within his heart a new resolve. He made a promise to himself: "From now on, whenever I have something delicious, I will share it with my brothers and sisters. I will never hide things away for myself again."

In the days that followed, he lived more openly, more harmoniously. Whenever he received a gift, he brought it out to offer to everyone. His fellow monks were surprised, but he only smiled and said nothing. In his heart, that day's remorse had transformed into a quiet strength, helping him to correct himself.

Many years later, whenever he recalled that old story, his heart still stirred. But he was grateful for the day he recognized his mistake. Because of it, he learned the lesson of sharing, of selfless love. And he came to understand that remorse is not meant for tormenting oneself, but for changing oneself.

The Meaning of the Story

Sincere remorse is a sign of moral integrity. When we recognize our mistakes, we should not only feel sad but also give rise to the wish not to repeat them. That very wish becomes wholesome karma for the future, helping us refine ourselves day by day.

Adapted from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang.