A great master lived in a monastery on a mountain. He was widely known for his austerity. When he felt that he was about to die, he asked his best student to come to his side.
“My student,” he said. “I feel that I am about to die. In my final moments, I wish to confess something.”
“My whole life has been a lie. People have always praised me for my austerity, but in truth, my mind is broken. I have never enjoyed the things that other people enjoy.
Rich foods have always made me sick. To me, eating great meals is like eating sand. I prefer the taste of simple dark bread. To me, a small, simple meal is like eating many roast beasts and sweet cakes.
On comfortable, soft beds I feel like I am sinking into gelatin. I can only sleep with the firm support of stone. On the stony ground, I sleep like a baby in its crib.
In warm houses, I feel like I am being burned by many fires. I only feel comfort in the cool air.
I have always seen people pursue these things, and I could not even conceive of how they could want them.
I thought, ‘These poor fools. They struggle so much for these things that will never bring them happiness. I have done nothing, and yet I’ve lived like a king.'”
With that, he died.
The student left the room and quietly closed the door. “What a lucky man,” he thought, “to have wanted so little.”
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