The Monk and the Corpse

There's a Chinese allegory that tells the story of a monk who set out in search of the Buddha.

He traveled for years and years and finally reached the land where the Buddha lived. Now all he had to do was cross a river—and he would be face to face with the Buddha. He was filled with joy.

He asked if he could find a boat or a ferry to take him across, because the river was very wide. But the people standing on the bank told him, "No one can take you across, because there's a legend that anyone who crosses never returns. That's why no one dares. You have to swim yourself."

He was afraid—naturally, the river was very wide. But seeing no other way, he started swimming.

Right in the middle of the river, he saw a corpse floating toward him—and getting closer and closer. He was terrified; he wanted to escape that corpse.  He tried many ways to change course, but the corpse was so strange—the more he tried to escape, the closer it came to him.

Finally, when there was no escape left—and curiosity was also aroused, because the corpse looked like that of a Buddhist monk: saffron robes, shaved head—he mustered up the courage to let the corpse come closer. Instead, he swam toward it.

He looked at the face—and began laughing madly. Because it was his own corpse. He couldn't believe his eyes, but it was true. He looked again and again—it was his own corpse.

Then the corpse drifted with the river's current, and he watched as his entire past flowed with it—everything he had learned, everything he had cherished, everything he had been—the ego, the center of his mind, his entire identity—everything flowed with the corpse. He became completely empty.

There was no longer any need to reach the other bank.  There was no need to go to the other bank, because as soon as the river took his past with it, he himself became Buddha.

He started laughing—because he was searching for Buddha outside, while Buddha was already within.

He returned laughing to the same bank he had left just a few minutes before. But no one recognized him. He even told people,

"I am the same man!"

But people laughed.

He was not the same man. He really wasn't. And this was the reason for the legend that whoever goes to the other side never returns. Everyone returned—but they were no longer the same. The old had died, and in its place a completely new had come.

I want this metaphor to penetrate as deeply into your being as possible. This is going to be your future.  If you truly continue your journey toward Buddhaland—aspiring to know the ultimate, to become the ultimate—then one day you will surely come before that vast river, where—

All you have done,

All you can do,

All you have,

All you can achieve,

All you have been,

All you can be—everything will be taken away by that vast river. It will all slowly flow with the current toward the ocean. And you will be left completely alone—with no possessions, no body, no mind.

In that solitude, the Buddha's flower blooms.

You have entered Buddhaland.

You have known the Tao.

Read more : - 

The Generosity of Draupadi and the Miracle of the Saree Bundle