A Smile in the Forest

In the late afternoon, in a sparse forest, the sound of a saw droned steadily through the quiet air. A father and son sat beside a large log, sweat beading on their foreheads, their breath quickening with each push and pull of the blade. The boy, about fifteen or sixteen years old, gripped the saw handle tightly, his eyes following the steel blade as it bit deep into the wood. But in his mind, another world was unfolding.

The night before, he had been in charge of the children's class in the village. The little ones lined up for exercises—some standing crooked, some giggling—until he had to shout, "Attention! What's so funny?" But then he himself could not hold back when he saw Ti standing behind Teo, drawing a mustache on his friend's face with his finger. The scene kept replaying in his mind, vivid and clear, like a film running on a screen.

"Screech… screech… screech…" The saw kept its steady rhythm, but his arms moved only by habit, while his mind was far away in the temple courtyard. He remembered the moment Teo turned around, his face smeared with black ink, his mouth hanging open in bewilderment. Everyone had burst out laughing, and he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing too. Thinking of it now, a smile crept across his face without his noticing.

The father, sitting across from him and pulling the saw, glanced over. He saw his son smiling to himself, eyes distant, arms still moving like a machine. He said nothing, but his mind began to speculate. "This boy of mine, at that age, smiling to himself in the middle of the forest like that… he must be thinking about love." He thought this quietly to himself, then silently finished the last stretch of the cut.

By the time they returned home, night had fallen. The father sat at the dinner table, looked at his wife, and said, "You know, I saw the boy smiling to himself today while he was sawing firewood. He must have something on his mind. At his age, it's easy to fall in love." Hearing this, the mother's eyes lit up: "Well then, we should find him a girl. If he keeps daydreaming like this, he might neglect his studies, and that would be a shame."

So the two of them began making plans. They asked relatives and neighbors, searching for a gentle, hardworking girl. A few days later, the mother pulled her son into the room and whispered, "My son, you're grown up now, and I'm thinking of finding you a wife. She's from a good family, diligent and kind. What do you think?"

The boy froze, his eyes wide open: "What? Which girl? I don't know anyone!"

"That's why I'm asking—you haven't met her yet. But I saw you smiling the whole time you were sawing firewood the other day. You must have been thinking of someone, weren't you?"

Only then did the boy understand. He doubled over, laughing uncontrollably: "Mother! I was laughing because I remembered the children in my class. They were so mischievous, I couldn't help myself. I wasn't thinking about getting married at all!"

Hearing this, the mother felt both amused and embarrassed. She shook her head: "Oh dear, your father thought… he thought you wanted to get married, so he started asking around. Thank goodness he hadn't asked anyone officially, or we would have died of embarrassment."

The boy was still laughing, but suddenly he understood something: while he was sawing firewood, his mind had actually been somewhere else. His hands were doing one thing, while his head was watching a film about something entirely different. The wandering perception—those rambling images and words arising in the mind—had carried him far away, so far that even his father had been misled.

Many years later, whenever this story was retold, the boy of that day—now a monk—would smile and tell his disciples: "Do you see, children, how dangerous wandering perception is? It is not true thinking; it is only a loudspeaker broadcasting a small fragment of the stream of thought. But if you are not aware of it, it will lead you everywhere, making you careless in whatever you are doing, and even causing harmful misunderstandings."

## The Meaning of the Story

Wandering perception consists of the rambling images and words that appear in the mind. It is not the root of thought but only its surface expression. It can make us lose our concentration, sweep us away into irrelevant matters, and create misunderstandings in our lives. When we recognize wandering perception, we can gain control over our mind and not allow it to lead us blindly.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang