My monastery is the whole world.
It's cloisters are the cities. It's resident monks, male and
female, are the entire human race. Its spiritual practice of
is languaging. Everyone
here. It's a requirement. The gongs waking us for
the reverberating bells reminding us to live from our true
nature, are the morning commute traffic sounds. The beeping of
impatient horns, the squealing of over zealous brakes chime the
call to contemplate. Its physical practice of
its discipline of menial chores, is daily life. Washing
dishes, taking out the trash, mowing the lawn, ironing shirts are
its chopping wood, carrying water. Everyone practices this
discipline here. It's a requirement.
I entered this monastery in order to learn the path of
from a master and become enlightened. The first lesson he
taught me was not to practice one discipline if I intended to
master something else. He got me to see I was
so I could master living well. He suggested, instead, if I wanted
to master living well, then I ought to practice living well.
He got me to see if I was
in order to master living well, then
was distracting from mastering living well.