The sun was hot over the village rooftops, and my feet were sore from sweeping the temple steps all morning. My name is Wei, and I was only twelve that summer I began working under Old Master Lin, the temple keeper at Jade Rock Temple. My parents said it would teach me patience. But all I learned the first week was how heavy a broom could be.
One day, after spilling a bucket of water trying to clean too fast, I flopped onto the temple bench and groaned. “Why do I work so hard, but everything still takes so long?”
Master Lin sat nearby, his long white beard resting on his robe as he poured himself tea. Without looking up, he said quietly, “You are pulling the river, little one.”
I blinked. “Pulling the river?”
He smiled. “You want the water to hurry—but it moves in its own time. The more you tug, the more you tire.”
I didn’t really get it. “So what should I do? Just... wait?”
“You should learn to move with it,” he said. “Like the bamboo.”
I huffed, confused and frustrated. All the other kids were swimming at the river. I was stuck here getting blamed for wet stones and spilled soap.
Later that afternoon, I followed Old Master Lin up the mountain steps. He took me to a quiet place where the wind danced softly through a patch of bamboo. The stalks swayed and whispered, never cracking, even when the wind blew hard.
“Why don’t they break?” I asked.
“Because they do not fight the wind,” he said. “They bend. They follow the Tao—the Way.”
I stayed quiet, thinking. The next day, instead of rushing, I tried something new. I didn’t hurry. I just let my hands move how they wanted, not too fast, not too slow. When leaves blew onto the stone path, I swept them gently, like I was helping them find their way home.
And funny enough, the work no longer felt hard. I even had time to sit in the shade and just breathe.
One afternoon, Master Lin sat beside me, sipping his tea again.
“You see now?” he asked.
“See what?” I asked, leaning my head back and watching clouds float.
“That to act without force is not the same as being lazy. It is Wu Wei—effortless action. Not ‘do nothing,' just... don’t push against the flow.”
I looked at my hands. They weren’t tired anymore. My heart felt light, like the breeze.
“I think I get it,” I said softly. “Like the bamboo—strong because it bends.”
He nodded. “That is true wisdom. To live in balance. Simple, but powerful.”
Now, whenever life feels too heavy, I remember that patch of bamboo. I remind myself not to pull the river or fight the wind. I just breathe. I let go. And somehow, everything still gets done.
Peace isn’t something I have to chase anymore. I’ve learned to let it find me.
The sun was hot over the village rooftops, and my feet were sore from sweeping the temple steps all morning. My name is Wei, and I was only twelve that summer I began working under Old Master Lin, the temple keeper at Jade Rock Temple. My parents said it would teach me patience. But all I learned the first week was how heavy a broom could be.
One day, after spilling a bucket of water trying to clean too fast, I flopped onto the temple bench and groaned. “Why do I work so hard, but everything still takes so long?”
Master Lin sat nearby, his long white beard resting on his robe as he poured himself tea. Without looking up, he said quietly, “You are pulling the river, little one.”
I blinked. “Pulling the river?”
He smiled. “You want the water to hurry—but it moves in its own time. The more you tug, the more you tire.”
I didn’t really get it. “So what should I do? Just... wait?”
“You should learn to move with it,” he said. “Like the bamboo.”
I huffed, confused and frustrated. All the other kids were swimming at the river. I was stuck here getting blamed for wet stones and spilled soap.
Later that afternoon, I followed Old Master Lin up the mountain steps. He took me to a quiet place where the wind danced softly through a patch of bamboo. The stalks swayed and whispered, never cracking, even when the wind blew hard.
“Why don’t they break?” I asked.
“Because they do not fight the wind,” he said. “They bend. They follow the Tao—the Way.”
I stayed quiet, thinking. The next day, instead of rushing, I tried something new. I didn’t hurry. I just let my hands move how they wanted, not too fast, not too slow. When leaves blew onto the stone path, I swept them gently, like I was helping them find their way home.
And funny enough, the work no longer felt hard. I even had time to sit in the shade and just breathe.
One afternoon, Master Lin sat beside me, sipping his tea again.
“You see now?” he asked.
“See what?” I asked, leaning my head back and watching clouds float.
“That to act without force is not the same as being lazy. It is Wu Wei—effortless action. Not ‘do nothing,' just... don’t push against the flow.”
I looked at my hands. They weren’t tired anymore. My heart felt light, like the breeze.
“I think I get it,” I said softly. “Like the bamboo—strong because it bends.”
He nodded. “That is true wisdom. To live in balance. Simple, but powerful.”
Now, whenever life feels too heavy, I remember that patch of bamboo. I remind myself not to pull the river or fight the wind. I just breathe. I let go. And somehow, everything still gets done.
Peace isn’t something I have to chase anymore. I’ve learned to let it find me.
