Don't Worry, Be Grumpy
“Look,” replied the abbot firmly, “even if you offered 100 million dollars, I still couldn’t tell you. Only monks may know!”
The Australian could not bribe the abbot, and so he left. Soon, he rejoined his group, successfully completed the trek, and returned to Australia.
Back home, he kept thinking about that supernatural music. He started obsessing so much about it that he began to lose sleep and became distracted at work. He saw one of the best psychologists in Sydney, but still he could not get that music out of his head. It was literally driving him crazy. There was only one thing to do.
Almost a year to the day since his previous visit, he appeared at the gate of that monastery in Ladakh and asked to see the abbot. The abbot remembered him. The Australian explained that he simply had to find out what made that music; otherwise he would go mad.
“I’m so sorry,” said the abbot with genuine compassion. “As I told you the last time, I cannot tell you because you are not a monk.”
“So make me a monk!” replied the Australian.
It takes two years of training, study, and learning all the chants to become a monk in a strict monastery. The Australian put himself through all that rigorous process, and finally after two years, the abbot ordained him as a monk.
As soon as the ordination was over, the Australian asked the abbot, “Now I am a monk, you can tell me. What is that heavenly music?”
Smiling, the abbot replied, “Come to my room at midnight and I will show you.”
The new monk was there one hour early, such was his excitement. He had waited three years and sacrificed everything, training hard to become a monk. The moment had now arrived.
Just before midnight, the abbot took out an old set of keys from his desk and drew back a curtain in his room to reveal a hidden wooden door. The abbot opened that door with a key made from wood. The labored creak of the door told that it had not been opened for many years, maybe even decades. There was a corridor, at the end of which was another door made of iron. As they walked toward it, an old clock in the monastery sounded the twelve chimes of midnight. The abbot used an iron key to open the second heavy door. After they had walked through, the heavenly music started. Being much closer, it was clear and sweet. Waves of joy swept through the Australian’s body. Nothing in his life meant anything compared to this. They walked toward another door, and the abbot took out his silver key, for this door was made of solid silver mined from the mountains. It would be worth a fortune in Australia, but you don’t think of such things when you are hearing music whose beauty is beyond words. After opening the silver door, he could see what was obviously the final door. It was made of pure gold, six inches thick, and decorated with priceless gems. The abbot took out a large golden key and then paused in front of the gold door. Turning to the Australian, he said with a gravity that demands one’s full attention, “Are you sure you’re ready for this? It’s something supernatural. It will change you forever. Are you prepared for that?”
The Australian was excited and terrified at the same time. He had never made such a momentous decision before. Seeing what was behind the gold door might send him mad, but not seeing it would drive him crazy. So he said, “Okay. Let’s do it.”
The abbot placed the key in the lock. The Australian’s body began to shake as the abbot slowly opened the heavy, ancient gold door.
And there it was! Oh my Lord! It was too much for any mere mortal to comprehend! It went beyond this world! It transcended all perceptions!
And what was it?
I am sorry, but I am not allowed to tell you, because you’re not a monk!
46. My Own Himalayan Journey
I saw my first pictures of the Himalayas while I was at school in London. They were so vast, so wild and alluring, that I decided that I would go there myself one day.
During the northern summer of 1973, after finishing university and before starting work as a schoolteacher, I set off from Victoria Station in London for India and the mighty Himalaya. Two weeks later I was in India, and it was raining every day. If I had checked before planning my journey, I would have discovered that this was monsoon season on the subcontinent. Even going as far north as Kathmandu, I could see only rain clouds, never the Himalayas. I soon gave up any hope of seeing the greatest mountains in the world. Fortunately, there were many other things to do in such an exotic land.
One day in Kathmandu, a couple of Americans told me that there was a vehicle carrying the mail going north to the border with Tibet and it took travelers along for a few rupees. It was an attractive outing, so early the next morning, I was on the mail van going north.
Around 1:00, the driver of the van stopped for lunch in a little mountain village. The two Americans suggested we climb a small hill close by while our driver had his meal. Fifteen minutes later, when we reached the top of the hill, the clouds to the north parted. For the first time, I could see the vast range of the Himalaya in the rain-cleansed air. The view was more breathtaking than the climb up that hill.
Wanting to take a picture, I realized I had left my camera in the mail van, so I quickly ran down the hill, gathered the camera, and scampered up the hill as fast as I could. Just as I reached the summit, the clouds closed. I had missed out by only a few seconds. As it would turn out, I wouldn’t see the mountains again. The Americans, who had simply sat enjoying the inspiring view, turned to me to ask where I had gone. Even worse, they then described to me in awestruck detail the amazing view and wonder that I had lost.
I felt such a dummy. Fetching my camera had cost me the extraordinary view. But I learned that when you try to capture a moment, with a photograph or by noting it down, it often escapes from you, and you miss all the wonder.
Like the glorious Himalaya, our life’s magic moments are for experiencing and not for imprisoning in a camera. They are unforgettable anyway, so why do we need to photograph them?
47. Someone Is Watching You
In the ancient world, a single wise teacher would teach a group of students everything they needed to know about life. One such teacher had a dozen students who were close to graduation. He also had a daughter who all his students thought was hot.
One day he announced to his students that he had two problems. The first was that he had to find a husband for his daughter, and according to the tradition of those days, it should be one of his twelve students. The difficulty was that he couldn’t decide which student would make the best husband.
The second problem was that he, as the father of the bride, would have to pay for a lavish wedding ceremony and also set up the couple in a new house with all the necessities. The difficulty was that this was a great expense.
To solve both these problems, the teacher announced a contest. He asked his students to creep stealthily into the local village under the cover of night and steal whatever they could, as long as no one saw them. Then they would bring all the goods back to the teacher. Whichever student followed the instructions and stole the most would win his daughter, and all the stolen valuables would go to the happy couple.
The students were shocked that their teacher was asking them to steal. He was usually such a moral man. In those days, though, so important was the vow of obedience to one’s teacher that they accepted the contest. Or perhaps it was that all the young men were blinded by desire for their teacher’s gorgeous daughter?
Over the next seven days, the cunning students snuck into the village late at night, stole whatever they could, and brought it back to their teacher. The teacher kept a careful record of which student stole what and from which house. Amazingly, no student got caught in the act.
At the end of the week, the teacher assembled the students to announce the result.
“You have stolen so much,” began the teacher, “enough for any couple to get a good start in life. Except for one of you, who has not brought back anything at all. Why not?”
The shy young student came forward and said, “Because I had to follow your instructions, sir.?
??
“What do you mean? Did I not instruct you to steal and bring the goods back to me?”
“Yes, sir,” said the student, with downcast eyes, “but you also instructed us to steal as long as no one sees you. I crept into many houses at 2:00 in the morning, when everyone was fast asleep. But every time I was about to steal something, I noticed someone was watching me. So I had to leave empty-handed, sir.”
“If everyone in the house was sleeping, then who was watching you?” asked the teacher.
“I was watching me, sir. I could see myself about to steal. That is why I took nothing.”
“Very good! Very good!” exclaimed the delighted teacher. “At least I have one wise student who has been listening to me all these years. All the rest of you nincompoops, take all the stolen goods back to their owners. They won’t punish you. I told them about this ‘contest’ two weeks ago. They were expecting you. That is why none of you were caught. And remember, whatever immoral act you do, someone will always see you, and that someone is yourself. Because you see it, you will feel bad and suffer.”
Of course, the wise student married the beautiful daughter. The teacher was wealthy enough to give them an opulent wedding ceremony and a well-furnished dream house. Then, because the husband was truly wise, they actually did live happily ever after.
48. How Another Student Learned to Laugh at Abuse
The former story was from ancient India. The following story is from ancient Greece, where the method of education was very similar. A single teacher would teach his students everything.
One particular teacher was bad tempered and would often scold a student for making the slightest mistake. Having verbally abused the young man, the teacher would then charge him for the privilege of being admonished. It was regarded as an extra tutorial, worthy of a fee to the teacher.
One such student went to work in Athens after graduating. Whenever his boss or anyone else verbally abused him, the student would laugh merrily.
In those days, one of the worst curses, coming from the nearby Middle East, was: “May the fleas from a thousand camels infest your armpits!”
He even laughed at that. He did not get upset at any insult. His friends and colleagues thought he was a few pillars short of a Greek temple, but in all other matters he appeared sane. So they asked him why he always laughed when he was rebuked.
“When I was a student,” he replied, “I had to pay for being criticized. Now I get it for free. That is what makes me so happy.”
Perhaps we should charge our children every time we have to shout at them for not cleaning their room or for not doing their homework. Then, later on in their lives, when their partner scolds them or a boss shouts at them, they will never get angry and only laugh merrily, like that student of ancient Greece.
49. Learning from the Experts
My Christian friends at Cambridge told me that they were about to do some volunteer work at the local hospital for those with mental disabilities. As a Buddhist, I thought that I should volunteer too—to “keep up with the Joneses” as they say. So my reason for going was nothing more than religious pride.
Every Thursday afternoon, we would catch the bus from Cambridge to Fulbourn Hospital to help in the occupational therapy department for those institutionalized with Down’s syndrome. My Christian friends stopped going after a few weeks, but I carried on for two years. Even though my studies in theoretical physics took up most of my spare time (after my busy social life, which took priority of course), I never missed the chance to go to visit my friends with Down’s syndrome. I truly enjoyed every Thursday afternoon.
What surprised me was how emotionally intelligent they were. If I arrived tired after last night’s party, or depressed after breaking up with a girlfriend, they would pick it up straight away. They would give me a hug and a sincere smile that would melt me. Their hearts were open and uncomplicated, not like mine!
It was awkward for me, as a heterosexual in the early seventies, being embraced in public by another man so affectionately. But the innocent joy that I saw all over my friend’s face while hugging me taught me to relax and enjoy it too. Life was uncomplicated at Fulbourn Hospital, among people who understood the emotional world so well. It was so different from studying in Cambridge University among those who were experts in everything except their own feelings.
I was so experienced after two years at Fulbourn Hospital that one Thursday the head of the OT department assigned me to one group all by myself for the first part of the afternoon and another group for the second part of the afternoon, again by myself. I never suspected a thing. Those friends with Down’s syndrome sure could keep a secret.
As I was about to leave, the real OT staff, the ones who were paid, called me into the big room. There stood all my friends with Down’s syndrome grinning like their faces would split, together with the staff. They were to make a presentation to me as the longest volunteering student that they had ever had.
While I had been working with one group, the other group and the staff were busy making presents for me. Now they were to make the presentation.
The gifts were not refined enough to sell in any shop, but they made me cry. By now, I had learned from my Down’s syndrome teachers how to let the tears flow in public. It was delightful. The head of the OT department said she had realized that my final examinations were to begin next week and that this would be my last day, hence the wonderful ceremony of gratitude. I replied through my tears that, actually, my exams did not start for another ten days. “May I come back next week, please?” They kindly allowed me an extra week.
Looking back, I learned most of what is now called “emotional intelligence” from those friends with Down’s syndrome. To this day, I regard them as the experts, my teachers.
50. Giving Overcomes Depression
Those who do voluntary community work often begin with the idea that they are giving something back to society. However, they usually finish up realizing that they have received much more than they ever gave. Their experience tells them that giving your time to a good cause is not an expense but an investment, always with a high rate of return.
I often counsel people with depression to go find some old people’s home, some hospital or other charity, and volunteer their time. Giving to others adds meaning to their lives. In voluntary service they find what they have lost: their meaning.
When giving service we receive nutritious emotional feedback, like I received serving my friends with Down’s syndrome. We are helped by those we thought we were helping. Our self-esteem rises, and we actually begin to like ourselves and our life. That is the end of our depression.
It may also make one rich, as the following story shows.
A friend had recently moved into a small apartment as a result of a divorce. He was unable to keep his pedigree dog in such cramped accommodation but was able to find a good home for her with a kind elderly woman who had another dog of the same breed.
One day, the elderly woman called him at work to ask if he would be able to drive her from her suburban home to the doctor in the city for an appointment. She was desperate and could not find any other means of transport.
My friend was running a one-man advertising business at the time that was just getting by. Being his own boss, he was able to take the time off to drive the woman to her appointment. That began a regular private taxi service for the dear old woman. My friend didn’t mind taking her to the dentist or wherever, because he got joy out of helping her and it was a welcome break from the grind of his work.
One morning she called to ask if he were free to take her to an important appointment with her lawyer. He obliged, as usual, and dropped her outside her lawyer’s offices in town. She asked politely if he could spare a few more moments to accompany her inside, which he happily did. There, in front of her lawyer, to his astonishment, she made him the sole beneficiary of her estate, which was substantial. The elderly woman was to die soon after.
My friend was amaze
d at his good fortune. He was only being kind and, anyway, he enjoyed looking after her. The last thing that he expected was to inherit such wealth. But that is what happens when we volunteer our time to help others. At the very least we feel good about ourselves, and sometimes there are other surprises too!
51. The Deep Hole
A man was walking through a forest when he spotted a hole. He stopped to look in and saw a large bag of gold at the bottom. He reached in to grab the treasure, but the hole was too deep. No matter how hard he stretched, he could not reach the gold. So he gave up.
As he continued his walk through the forest, he met another man and told him about the gold in the hole that was too deep to reach. The second man picked up a hooked stick, went to the hole, and pulled out the gold using the stick.
The problem was not that the hole was too deep, but that the first man’s arm was too short. The second man increased the length of his arm with a hooked stick, and he could easily reach the treasure.
Happiness is never too far to reach. We just need to increase our wisdom and compassion.
Then we can reach anything.
52. When Is It Okay to Lie?
An elderly Buddhist woman called me one evening in great distress. She told me that that afternoon she had lied to her husband for the first time since they had been married forty years ago. She said she felt terrible.
Her husband, Don, had had a heart attack and survived. However, he urgently needed bypass surgery and so was put in a hospital ward to wait until he was strong enough.
There were three other male patients in the same room, also waiting for a bypass. Don became quite friendly with Jack in the adjacent bed. So much so that, when Don’s wife visited one evening, he asked how Jack was doing after his bypass operation that had been done that morning.