I had always believed that the harder I worked, the better I would be. Every morning, I swept leaves from the temple courtyard before the sun rose, hoping the Master monk would be proud. My name is Lian, and I was the youngest monk at the Mountain of Clouds Temple. I was only ten years old, and I wanted so badly to be the best student the temple had ever seen.
One day, Master Shen asked me to carry water from the river and fill the big wooden barrel near the prayer hall. I grabbed the buckets eagerly and ran down the stone steps. I wanted to finish faster than anyone ever had. But in my rush, I slipped on a mossy rock. The buckets flew, water splashed everywhere, and I fell flat on my back.
I sat up, soaking wet and embarrassed. Looking up, I saw Master Shen standing nearby. I hadn't noticed him before.
"Are you hurt, young one?" he asked gently.
"No, Master. I just... I wanted to be quick and useful."
Master Shen smiled. His long white beard moved slightly in the breeze. “The river flows slow but fills the ocean. You rushed, and spilled everything. Sometimes, doing less brings more.”
I didn’t understand. I frowned and walked back to gather the buckets again, slower this time. But his words stayed in my mind.
Later that evening, we sat by the lotus pond for meditation. I couldn’t keep still. My legs hurt. My nose itched. My thoughts ran wild with questions—“How can I become better if I don’t push harder? How will Master Shen see that I care?”
Then I noticed a small dragonfly landing on the still water. It didn’t try. It didn’t struggle. It just floated gently, and then flew away again. Suddenly, I remembered something Master Shen once said: “To follow the Tao is to be like water—soft, flowing, and without force.”
I closed my eyes. I let go of my thoughts. I didn’t try to fight my restlessness. I just noticed it, and breathed. And for the first time, I felt something strange—a quiet inside me, like a breeze passing over a calm lake.
The next morning, I woke slowly. I didn’t run. I didn’t hurry. I swept the courtyard with slow, steady motions. The old leaves fell gently into the basket. Birds sang in the peach trees. I heard them for the first time.
Master Shen walked by and watched me in silence. After a while, he simply said, “Ah. Today, the boy moves like the wind. Not too fast. Not too slow.”
I smiled. I didn’t need praise. I didn’t need to be the best. I only needed to be present.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel the urge to push too hard, I remember the dragonfly. I try to let things unfold as they are, trusting the Tao to guide me. And I’ve found more peace in that simple slowness than I ever knew before.
I had always believed that the harder I worked, the better I would be. Every morning, I swept leaves from the temple courtyard before the sun rose, hoping the Master monk would be proud. My name is Lian, and I was the youngest monk at the Mountain of Clouds Temple. I was only ten years old, and I wanted so badly to be the best student the temple had ever seen.
One day, Master Shen asked me to carry water from the river and fill the big wooden barrel near the prayer hall. I grabbed the buckets eagerly and ran down the stone steps. I wanted to finish faster than anyone ever had. But in my rush, I slipped on a mossy rock. The buckets flew, water splashed everywhere, and I fell flat on my back.
I sat up, soaking wet and embarrassed. Looking up, I saw Master Shen standing nearby. I hadn't noticed him before.
"Are you hurt, young one?" he asked gently.
"No, Master. I just... I wanted to be quick and useful."
Master Shen smiled. His long white beard moved slightly in the breeze. “The river flows slow but fills the ocean. You rushed, and spilled everything. Sometimes, doing less brings more.”
I didn’t understand. I frowned and walked back to gather the buckets again, slower this time. But his words stayed in my mind.
Later that evening, we sat by the lotus pond for meditation. I couldn’t keep still. My legs hurt. My nose itched. My thoughts ran wild with questions—“How can I become better if I don’t push harder? How will Master Shen see that I care?”
Then I noticed a small dragonfly landing on the still water. It didn’t try. It didn’t struggle. It just floated gently, and then flew away again. Suddenly, I remembered something Master Shen once said: “To follow the Tao is to be like water—soft, flowing, and without force.”
I closed my eyes. I let go of my thoughts. I didn’t try to fight my restlessness. I just noticed it, and breathed. And for the first time, I felt something strange—a quiet inside me, like a breeze passing over a calm lake.
The next morning, I woke slowly. I didn’t run. I didn’t hurry. I swept the courtyard with slow, steady motions. The old leaves fell gently into the basket. Birds sang in the peach trees. I heard them for the first time.
Master Shen walked by and watched me in silence. After a while, he simply said, “Ah. Today, the boy moves like the wind. Not too fast. Not too slow.”
I smiled. I didn’t need praise. I didn’t need to be the best. I only needed to be present.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel the urge to push too hard, I remember the dragonfly. I try to let things unfold as they are, trusting the Tao to guide me. And I’ve found more peace in that simple slowness than I ever knew before.
