My first visit to a Zen monastery still inspires me. I went to have a Sanskrit reference translated for "The Dancing Wu Li Masters: An Overview of the New Physics", which I was writing at the time. A monk informed me I would be received by the Abbot himself. He led me to a long path that led from a building that was falling into disrepair. Its once gracious gardens and paths were covered with years of fallen leaves.
"While you are waiting," said the monk, handing me a broom, "please sweep the leaves from the path." I had nothing else to do, so I looked at the long path, the broom in my hand, and began to sweep. By the time he returned, I had swept fifty feet of walk. The order I had imposed on the otherwise unkempt path pleased me. To my surprise, I regretted handing him back the broom and going to see the Abbot.
It seemed to me that I had just begun and I did not want to lose the contentment I felt while I was sweeping the path. I looked back one last time, and as I did a soft breeze blew a leaf onto it, and then two more. My work was being undone before my eyes, but the satisfaction it gave me was mine to keep. I still have it and I remember it when I feel that I have too many important things to do.
Have you spent quality time sweeping lately?
Adapted from a story by Gary Zukav.
