Hey there, dear listeners of Life Philosophy! I’m thrilled to be back with you today, diving deep into the timeless wisdom of Gautam Buddha through a story that’s as profound as it is simple. So, grab a cozy spot, maybe a warm cup of tea, and let’s journey together into a tale that unravels the restless nature of the mind and the path to true peace. This isn’t just a story—it’s a mirror to our own struggles, a gentle nudge toward understanding ourselves better. Ready? Let’s begin.
Picture this: a serene setting under a sprawling banyan tree, where Gautam Buddha sits surrounded by his disciples. One of them, visibly frustrated, steps forward with a question that I’m sure many of us have asked ourselves at some point. “Buddha,” he says, his voice trembling with desperation, “what should I do? My mind doesn’t settle anywhere. I long for calm, for solitude, but it’s like trying to catch the wind. My thoughts keep wandering, restless, untamed. Please, tell me, how can I find peace?”
Buddha, ever the compassionate teacher, listens with unwavering attention, his eyes reflecting a quiet knowing. Instead of a direct answer, he offers something even better—a story. “Let me share a tale with you,” he says, his voice soft yet commanding, “and within it, you’ll find the answers you seek.”
The story begins with another teacher, a wise guru, guiding his disciples in the art of meditation. During one session, a curious disciple stands up, his brow furrowed with doubt. “Guruji,” he asks, “I’ve been wrestling with a question for days. We all eat food, and hunger disappears for everyone, right? So why doesn’t meditation work the same way? We follow your teachings, yet some of us find stillness quickly, some take years, and others never do. Why the difference?”
The guru, with a faint smile, doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he says, “Tomorrow, I’ve been invited to the home of the wealthiest man in the village, the Seth. Come with me, and perhaps you’ll see something.” Intrigued, the disciple nods, though he’s utterly clueless about what’s coming.
The next day, they arrive at the Seth’s grand house. The Seth’s wife, a kind and gracious host, has prepared a feast. They sit to eat, joined by the Seth himself. But the moment he takes his first bite, drama unfolds! He flings his plate away with a dramatic huff, shouting, “What nonsense is this? There’s no taste at all! Servants, make something else!” And just like that, he storms off. The poor wife, mortified, apologizes profusely as she serves the guru and disciple with care. They eat in silence, savoring the meal, though the guru deliberately leaves two pieces of bread on his plate. Turning to the Seth’s wife, he asks, “Daughter, could you wrap these two loaves in a cloth for me?” She does so, and they leave.
On the road, the guru turns to his disciple with a twinkle in his eye. “So, how was the food?” The disciple, still processing the Seth’s tantrum, replies, “It was delicious, Guruji. Really good.” The guru chuckles. “Just delicious? Nothing more?” The disciple shrugs, confused. “Well, it filled my stomach. What else is there?” The guru presses on, “If it was so tasty, why didn’t the Seth like it? Why did he throw it away?” The disciple stammers, “I… I don’t know. It was perfectly fine. I can’t understand it.”
The guru smiles mysteriously. “I’ll explain, but for now, just walk with me quietly.” They trek on, veering away from the path to their ashram. After a while, the disciple can’t help but ask, “Guruji, where are we going?” The guru only replies, “Keep walking.”
Soon, they encounter a man on the roadside—a frail, gaunt figure in tattered clothes. He collapses at the guru’s feet, pleading, “Oh, kind sir, help me. I haven’t eaten in four days. Please, give me something, anything.” The guru gently helps him sit under a tree and hands over the two loaves he’d saved. The man’s eyes light up as if he’s been handed gold. He eats ravenously, tears streaming down his face, his hands gesturing skyward as if thanking the heavens for this miracle. “You’ve saved my life,” he whispers between bites.
When he’s done, the guru asks, “How was the taste of the food?” The man, still emotional, shakes his head. “Taste? There was no taste. There was God in these loaves. There was life, nectar. This wasn’t just food—it was everything.” With a final bow of gratitude, he leaves.
Turning to his disciple, the guru finally unveils the lesson. “See, my child, the food was the same. For the Seth, it had no value—he found no satisfaction. For you, it was tasty, a small joy. But for this hungry man, it was divine, a lifeline. The difference lies not in the food, but in the thirst, the need, the longing. So it is with meditation. The deeper your yearning for stillness, the greater your hunger for peace, the sooner you attain it. Satisfaction doesn’t come from the act alone; it comes from the heart’s readiness.”
Back under the banyan tree, Buddha pauses, letting the story sink in. Then, addressing his disciple directly, he says, “You ask why your mind doesn’t settle. Understand this: the mind’s very nature is to wander. It’s not meant to stay still. When we have abundance, like the Seth with his endless feasts, the mind grows bored and runs away. When we have just enough, like the disciple with his meal, there’s mild attachment. But when we have nothing, or when something is tied to our very survival—like those loaves for the hungry man—the mind vanishes. In that moment, there’s no judgment, no restlessness. There’s only presence, only life.”
I can almost hear Buddha’s gentle voice as he continues, “You might wonder, if the mind’s job is to keep us running, will we ever find peace? Will we ever stop? Most people run their whole lives—chasing one thing after another, from birth to death. But there are rare souls who awaken. They see the futility of this race, and they stop. They don’t chase; instead, things begin to chase them. These are the enlightened ones.”
He leans in, as if speaking to each of us personally. “So, how do you stop? How do you tame this restless mind? The answer is meditation—but not just sitting with closed eyes. True meditation is being fully present in what you are, in what you love. Think of a singer lost in her song, her mind dissolved in melody. Or a gardener tending to his plants, so immersed that past and future fade away. That’s meditation—living your nature, being what you truly are. When you chase what you’re not, the mind takes over, and you’re left incomplete, always running. But when you embrace who you are, concentration comes naturally. You become whole.”
Isn’t that beautiful, friends? I find myself reflecting on my own life as I share this. How often do we chase things that aren’t meant for us, only to feel that nagging emptiness? I remember a time I pushed myself into a career I didn’t love, thinking it was the ‘right’ path. My mind was a whirlwind—never settled, always craving something else. It wasn’t until I started writing, something I’d always felt drawn to, that I found moments of stillness. It’s not perfect, but in those hours, I’m present. I’m me.
Buddha’s teaching here isn’t just ancient wisdom—it’s a living guide. He reminds us that the mind will wander; that’s its nature. But we don’t have to be its slave. Through meditation, through finding our true calling, we can anchor ourselves. And if you’re curious to dive deeper into Buddha’s life and philosophy, I highly recommend the book Being to Becoming Buddha. It’s a treasure trove on his early life, the Middle Path, the Four Noble Truths, and so much more, explained in a way that feels accessible yet profound.
So, my friends, as we wrap up today, I invite you to pause and ask: Where is your mind running? And more importantly, what is it that makes you feel truly present, truly you? Maybe it’s time to stop chasing and start being. Let’s ponder that together until we meet again. Take care, and keep seeking that inner stillness.