The Little Novice Who Loved to Play

On the roof of an ancient temple, golden afternoon sunlight stretched across moss-covered tiles. A young novice sat with his knees drawn up on the veranda, gazing out at the fields beyond. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the bodhi tree, yet the novice’s mind was far from peaceful. He sighed, idly playing with pebbles he had picked up in the courtyard.

His name was Minh, and he had taken refuge only a few months prior. That day, his teacher had given a dharma talk on meditation, explaining how to relax body and mind and focus on the breath. But while listening, Minh’s thoughts drifted to the football match he wanted to play with friends in the village, and to the games he had left behind when entering the monastery. He felt like a fledgling trapped in a cage, longing for the sky but unsure how to fly free.

"Minh, come inside," came the teacher’s warm, deep voice from the meditation room. Startled, Minh stood quickly and entered. The teacher sat upright on his cushion, his posture dignified yet radiating a profound serenity. Looking at Minh, he smiled gently.

"What are you thinking about that makes your face so gloomy?"

Minh bowed his head, hesitating before speaking. "Teacher... I find sitting meditation very difficult. After a short time, my legs go numb, my back aches, and my mind wanders everywhere. I am afraid I cannot do it."

The teacher did not answer immediately. He rose, stepped into the courtyard, and beckoned Minh to follow. Standing in the center of the yard, he turned to look at the boy, his gaze still tender.

"Do you see that bird?" The teacher pointed to the sky, where a single bird soared gracefully. "It flies because of its wings, but how far and how long it can fly depends on its breath and the relaxation of its body. Do you see it tensing itself while flying?"

Minh shook his head. The teacher continued, "Birds never tense themselves when they fly. They relax their entire bodies, keeping only their wings moving rhythmically with their breath. Those who practice meditation must do the same. Sit with your legs crossed and your back straight, but let your whole body be loose. Relax every finger, every toe, and even the muscles that feel tight. Did you know that since birth, you have never truly known how to relax? You are always tense, whether you are happy or sad."

Hearing this, Minh suddenly realized something. He touched his shoulders and found them stiff as stone. He exhaled, trying to loosen up, but after a moment, the tension returned. Seeing this, the teacher smiled.

"There, you see? All your life, you have been accustomed to tension. But do not be discouraged. Learning to relax is like learning to fly. Practice a little each day with perseverance, and eventually, you will succeed. Remember, relaxing does not mean collapsing or lying flat. It means keeping the body upright and dignified, while the mind remains light and unburdened."

Minh nodded, though confusion still lingered in his heart. He asked, "But Teacher, if I sit for too long, my legs hurt, and my mind runs off elsewhere. How can I maintain my breath?"

The teacher looked at Minh with a contemplative gaze and began to tell a story. "Long ago, there was a Zen master who also had a young disciple like you. This disciple loved to play and found it hard to sit still. One day, the master took him to the riverbank and asked him to watch the flowing water. The master asked, 'Do you see the water stop flowing?' The disciple shook his head. The master said, 'Your breath is the same. It flows continuously without stopping. You only need to observe it and follow it; do not try to hold it back. The more you try to control it, the more tired you become. The more you let go, the lighter you feel.'"

As Minh listened, a small clarity dawned within him. He looked up at the sky and saw the bird still flying, light and free. He thought silently, "I want to be like that bird."

From that day on, every morning and evening, Minh went to the temple courtyard to practice the "bird flight" exercise his teacher had taught. He stood tall, imagining his body as light as empty space, letting his arms rise and fall softly with his breath. At first, he felt awkward, his limbs stiff. But gradually, day by day, he noticed a difference. His body became lighter, his breath deeper, and his wandering mind less chaotic.

One morning, after finishing his exercises, Minh sat down for meditative concentration. This time, he did not try to force his mind to stay put. He simply sat, relaxed his entire body, and watched each breath enter and leave. Strangely, the pain in his legs no longer tormented him. His mind became unusually quiet. He felt a gentle happiness, as if he were soaring alongside the bird in the sky.

When he emerged from meditation, Minh opened his eyes to see his teacher sitting opposite him, smiling kindly. The teacher said, "You see? With perseverance, you can achieve this. But remember, never take pride in it. The more you practice, the more humble you must become. Realize that this body is not you, and this mind is not you. Only the breath and reverence for the Buddha are what you must keep forever."

Minh bowed deeply, his heart full of gratitude. From then on, the young novice no longer viewed sitting meditation as torture. Each day, he practiced diligently, gradually becoming calm, steady, and skilled in letting go of unnecessary worries. He understood that happiness is not found by chasing external games, but by discovering peace within his own breath.

The Meaning of the Story

This story reminds us that effective practice of meditative concentration requires good health, the ability to relax body and mind, and persistent training. Meditation is not for boasting or seeking supernatural powers; it is a tool to help us realize that the self is meaningless, guiding us toward enlightenment and liberation. Humility, reverence for the Buddha, and compassion for all beings are the solid foundations that keep our souls from straying on the path of practice.

Compiled from the dharma talk of Venerable Thich Chan Quang