More Teaching Stories

Duke Mu of Chin said to Po Lo: “You are now advanced in years. Is there any member of your family whom I could employ to look for horses in your stead?”

Po Lo replied: “A good horse can be picked out by its general build and appearance. But the superlative horse, one that raises no dust and leaves no tracks, is something evanescent and fleeting, elusive as thin air. The talents of my sons lie on a lower plane altogether; they can tell a good horse when they see one, but they cannot tell a superlative horse. I have a friend, however, one Chiu-fang Kao, a hawker of fuel and vegetables, who in things appertaining to horses is nowise my inferior. Pray see him.”

Duke Mu did so, and subsequently dispatched him on the quest for a steed. Three months later, he returned with the news that he had found one. “It is now in Shach’iu,” he added. “What kind of a horse is it?” asked the Duke. “Oh, it is a dun-colored mare,” was the reply.

However, someone being sent to fetch it, the animal turned out to be a coal-black stallion! Much displeased, the Duke sent for Po Lo. “That friend of yours,” he said, “whom I commissioned to look for a horse, has made a fine mess of it. Why, he cannot even distinguish a beast’s color or sex! What on earth can he know about horses?”

Po Lo heaved a sigh of satisfaction. “Has he really got as far as that?” he cried. “Ah, then he is worth ten thousand of me put together. There is no comparison between us. What Kao keeps in view is the spiritual mechanism. In making sure of the essential, he forgets the homely details; intent on the inward qualities, he loses sight of the external. He sees what he wants to see, and not what he does not want to see. He looks at the things he ought to look at, and neglects those that need not be looked at.

So clever a judge of horses is Kao, that he has it in him to judge something better than horses.” When the horse arrived, it turned out indeed to be a superlative animal.

All men are dead except those that follow the true path.
All those that follow the true path are dead except those that know.
All those that know are dead except those that practice.
All those who practice are dead except those who practice with righteous intention.
And all those who practice with righteous intention are in very great danger.
from the 12th Century Egyptian Sufi, Dzoû’l No ûn

There is an old Sufi prayer that goes like this: Oh God, why is it that you
are always so close to me, while I am always so far from you.

There was a terrible blizzard, and it snowed and snowed all weekend. Sunday morning the Pastor saw the snow had reached his window. Thinking nobody would come to church that morning, he still felt obliged to go anyway. The pastor fought through the icy wind and snow to get just next door to the church. He waited in the sanctuary, reading for ten minutes.

He was about to go when the door opened, and one congregant staggered through. “Hello!” said the pastor. “Church will have to be cancelled today—you’re the only one who has come.” The man replied,” Reverend, if you had a big herd of sheep, and only one came home that night to feed, would you still feed him?” The pastor was amazed and cried,” Yes! Of course I would!” He then was filled with the spirit, and decided to preach the best sermon ever.

He talked and talked about all of life’s trials and joys. He referred to passages from Genesis to Job, Psalms to John, Acts to Revelation. He did so with excitement and conviction for a long time. When the minister finished, he went down and talked to his sole congregant. “Did that satisfy you, sir?” he asked happily. The man replied, “Reverend, if you had a herd of sheep and only one came home that night to feed, would you make sure he ate the whole bale of hay?”

A Master noticed that all of his older disciples, sitting around a table, were having a very animated discussion. He called one of them over, and asked, ”What are all of you discussing so passionately?”

The disciple answered, “We’re trying to understand whether we’ve reached the level at which the devil has finally stopped chasing us.”

“No, no,” said the master. “You are not that advanced yet; you are still chasing him!”

One of the monks in a monastery was well known for his extreme zeal and effort. Day and night he would sit in meditation, and days would pass before he would eat or sleep. As time passed he grew thinner and more and more exhausted. During meditation, he often nearly drifted off to sleep. The master finally advised him to slow down, but the monk refused to listen, and drove himself even harder. Finally the master asked, “Why are you rushing so? Why are you in such a hurry?”

“I am after enlightenment,” replied the monk. “There is no time to waste.”

“And how do you know,” asked the master, “that enlightenment is running out in front of you, so that you must chase it? What if enlightenment is coming up from behind, and all you need to do is simply stand still? If that’s true, then you are actually running away from it!”

A man walking in the forest saw a fox who had lost its legs. He wondered how it could live, but then saw a tiger arrive with game in his mouth. The tiger ate his fill, then left the rest of the meat for the fox. The next day God fed the fox by means of the same tiger.

The man wondered at God’s greatness, and said to himself, “I too shall just rest in a corner, with full trust in the Lord, and he will provide.” He did this for many days, but nothing happened. He was almost at death’s door when he heard a voice say, “O you who are in the path of error, open your eyes to the truth! Stop imitating the disabled fox, and follow the example of the tiger.”

Once upon a time a poor unfortunate man lived with his mother, his wife, and his six children in a one-room hut. Because they were so crowded, the children often fought, and the man and his wife argued. When the poor man couldn’t stand it any longer, he ran to the Rabbi for help. He explained the situation.

The rabbi thinks for moment, then asks, “Do you have chickens?” “Yes, I have 6 chickens,” says the farmer. “Bring them into the house,” says the rabbi. The farmer is confused, but knows the rabbi is very wise. So he goes home, and brings all the chickens to live in the house with the family. Now it’s still crowded and noisy, but even worse, with the clucking, and pecking, and flapping of wings.

The farmer goes back to the rabbi. “I did what you said, Rabbi. But with the chickens, now it’s even worse in the house.” The rabbi thinks for moment. Then he asks, “Do you have any goats?” “Yes, I have two goats,” says the farmer. “Bring them into the house,” says the rabbi.
The farmer is confused, but knows the rabbi is very wise. He brings the goats from the barn to live in the house. It doesn’t solve the problem. In fact, it is much worse, with the chickens clucking and flapping their wings, and the goats bleating, butting their heads against everything. and chewing the furniture.

The next day, the farmer goes back to the rabbi. “I did what you said, Rabbi. My mother has no place to sleep because the chickens have taken her bed. The goats are sticking their heads into everything and making a lot of noise.” The rabbi thinks. He looks very puzzled. Then he says, “Aha! You must have some sheep.” “Yes, I have sheep,” says the farmer. “Bring them into the house,” says the rabbi.

The farmer knows the rabbi is very wise. So he brings his six sheep inside. this doesn’t solve his problem—in fact, it is much, much worse. The chickens are clucking and flapping their wings, the goats are bleating and butting their heads. The sheep are baa-ing, too, and one sat on the farmer’s eyeglasses and broke them. The house is loud and crazy and it is starting to smell like a barn.

Completely exasperated, the farmer goes back to the rabbi. “Rabbi,” he says, “I have followed your advice. I have done everything you said. Now none of us has a place to sleep because the chickens are laying eggs in our beds. The goats are bleating and butting their heads, and the sheep are breaking things. The house smells like a barn.” The rabbi frowned. He closed his eyes and thought for a long time. Finally he said, “This is what you do. Take the sheep back to the barn. Take the goats back to the barn. Take the chickens back to their coop.”

The farmer ran home and did exactly as the rabbi had told him. As he took the animals out of the house, his children and wife and mother began to tidy up the house. By the time the last chicken was settled in her coop, the house looked quite nice. And, it was quiet. All the family agreed their home was the most spacious, peaceful, and comfortable home anywhere.

An elephant while walking in the jungle met a mouse. “My god, you’re so small,” said the elephant to the mouse. “Well, you see,” replied the mouse, “I’ve been sick.”

A monk while journeying along the back roads met Krishna. Recognizing him, and after receiving permission he asked, “Krishna, if I loved you with all my heart, how many incarnations will it take me to reach enlightenment?”

Krishna looked at him, in him, through him, weighed his future and his past, and replied, “If you loved me with all your heart, It will take you seven incarnations to reach enlightenment.”

The monk then asked; “If instead of loving you, I hated you with all my heart. How many incarnations will it take then?”

Krishna replied, “then it will take you only three incarnations.”

“But why would it be shorter,” asked the monk?

“Because,” replied Krishna, “you would always have me in your mind.”

A monk was spending the night by a fire, when a beggar approached and asked if he could sit by the fire until he got warm. The monk not only agreed, but invited him to spend the night, and gave him half his dinner as well. Read More…

The next morning, when the monk insisted that the beggar eat the last remaining food, the beggar transformed into the god Shiva, who was traveling the earth at that time in that disguise and said; “ Since you were so kind to me last night and this morning I will grant you one wish.”

The monk overwhelmed, timidly asked, “would you answer any question I asked?”

“Anything you like,” replied Shiva.

The monk, after taking a few minutes to think said, “I would like to know how long it will take me to achieve enlightenment?”

Shiva hesitated for a while, then pointed to a very large and spreading banyan tree, filled with thousands of leaves. Sadly he said, “If every leaf on that tree represented a lifetime that’s how long it will take you to achieve enlightenment.”

Hearing that, the monk fell to his knees and began to weep tears of joy, thanking Shiva for giving him such wonderful news.

Shiva, astonished, said, “I don’t understand, every time in the past that I had to answer that question the results were devastating, and the person went away sad and depressed. Why are you so happy?”

The monk looked up at Shiva with a glowing face and replied, “for such a precious thing—such a short time.”

A former inmate of a Nazi concentration camp visited a friend who had shared the ordeal with him. “Have you forgiven the Nazis?” he asked his friend. “Yes,”was the reply.

“Well, I haven’t. I’m still consumed with hatred for them.” “In that case,” said his friend gently, “they still have you in prison.”

A man who lived in the same town as Rabbi Zusya saw that he was very poor. So each day he put twenty coins into the little bag Zusya kept his phylacteries in, so that his family could buy the necessities of life. From then on, the man grew richer and richer. The more he had, the more he gave Zusya, and the more he gave Zusya, the more he had.

But once, recalling that Zusya was the disciple of a great maggid, it occurred to him that if what he gave the disciple was so lavishly rewarded, he might become even more prosperous if he gave to the master himself. So he traveled to Mezritch, and persuaded Rabbi Baer to accept a substantial gift from him. From then on, his fortunes shrank, until he’d lost all the profits he’d made during the more fortunate period.

He took his trouble to Rabbi Zusya, told him the story, and asked what his present predicament was due to. For had not the Zusya himself said his master was immeasurably greater than he?

Zusya replied, “Look! As long as you gave, and didn’t bother to whom, God gave to you, and did not bother to whom. But when you began to seek out especially noble, and distinguished recipients, God did exactly the same.”

Beside the devout and prayerful seeker, passed the crippled, the beggars and the beaten. Seeing them all, the holy one, from a state of deep prayer, cried out, “Great God, how is it that a loving creator can see such things, and yet do nothing about them?”

And out of the long silence, God said: “I did do something about them. I made you.”

A guy named Joe found himself in dire trouble. His business had gone bust, and he was in serious financial trouble. He was so desperate he decided to ask God for help. He prayed, “God, please help me, I’ve lost my business and if I don’t get some money, I’m going to lose my house as well, please let me win the lottery.”

Lottery night came and somebody else won it. Joe again prayed… “God, please let me win the lottery! I’ve lost my business, my house and I’m going to lose my car as well.” Lottery night came and Joe still had no luck.

Once again, he prayed… “My God, why have you forsaken me? I’ve lost my business, my house, and my car. My wife and children are starving. I don’t often ask you for help, and I have always been a good servant to you. Please, just let me win the lotto this one time so I can get my life back in order…”

Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light as the heavens opened and Joe was confronted by the voice of God himself: “Joe, meet me half way on this one… buy a ticket!”

A Zen Buddhist dialog:
Monk: In order to work in the Tao is there a special way?
Master: yes, there is one.
Monk: Which is it?
Master: When one is hungry, he eats; when one is tired, he sleeps.
Monk: That is what everybody does; is their way the same as yours?
Master: It is not the same.
Monk: Why not?
Masterr: When they eat they do not only eat, they weave all sorts of imaginings. When they sleep they give reign to a thousand idle thoughts. That is why not their way is not my way.

A group of nuns were troubled by the pressures placed on them to constantly radiate “joy.”

“It’s too much,” one complained. “There is sorrow in our lives, as in all lives. How can we be ‘always joyful’?” Discussion only deepened the quandary.

Finally, Mother Superior spoke. “We can experience both joy and sorrow, even at the same time, for joy and sorrow are not opposites. It is not joy and sorrow, but their opposites, that cause damage, for the opposite of joy is cynicism and the opposite of sorrow is callousness. Cynicism is rooted in the assumption that everyone is always in control. Callousness is the inability to feel, which follows from the fear of losing control.”

A man once approached Rabbi Israel of Rizhin and said, “Rebbe, I so wish to repent, but I don’t know what to do.”

“And to sin, you knew what to do?” “Yes, but that was easy. First I sinned, then I knew.”

“Exactly. Now do the same the other way around. Start by repenting; you’ll know later.”

When a monkey throws a coconut at a wise man, instead of throwing it back, he drinks the milk, eats the meat, and even makes a bowl out of the shell,

The Buddha said, “When I first came you asked certain questions which I was not ready to answer, so I remained silent. Now that you are ready to hear these truths, and I am ready to answer, no one asks.”

Rabbi Abraham said: “I have learned a new form of service from the wars of Frederick, King of Prussia. It is not necessary to approach the enemy in order to attack him. In fleeing from him, it is possible to circumvent him as he advances, and fall on him from the rear until he is forced to surrender. What is needed is not to strike straight at Evil but to withdraw to the sources of divine power, and from there to circle around Evil, bend it, and transform it into its opposite.” —from Buber’s Tales of the Hasidim, Early Masters

It is said, Buddha pointed the way to enlightenment, but everyone
saw only his finger.

Once, when Rabbi Pinhas entered the House of Study, he saw that his disciples, who had been talking busily, stopped and started at his coming. He asked them: “What were you talking about?”

“Rabbi,” they said, “we were saying how afraid we are that the Evil Urge will pursue us.” “Don’t worry,” he replied. “You have not gotten high enough for it to pursue you. For the time being, you are still pursuing it.” —from Buber’s Tales of the Hasidim, Early Masters

The only thing worse than beating a dead horse is saddling one. Dakota tribal wisdom says that when you discover you are riding a dead horse, the best strategy is to dismount. However, in business other strategies with dead horses, include:

1. Buying a stronger whip.
2. Changing riders.
3. Say things like: “This is the way we have always ridden this horse.”
4. Appointing a committee to study the horse.
5. Arranging to visit other sites to see how they ride dead horses.
6. Increasing the standards to ride dead horses.
7. Appointing a tiger team to revive the dead horse.
8. Creating a training session to increase our riding ability.
9. Comparing the state of dead horses in today’s environment.
10. Change the requirements, declaring that: “This horse is not dead.”
11. Hire contractors to ride the dead horse.
12. Harnessing several dead horses together for increased speed.
13. Declaring that “No horse is too dead to beat.”
14. Providing additional funding to increase the horse’s performance.
15. Do a Cost Analysis study to see whether contractors can ride it cheaper.
16. Purchase a product to make dead horses run faster.
17. Declare the horse is “better, faster and cheaper” dead.
18. Form a quality circle to find uses for dead horses.
19. Revisit the performance requirements for horses.
20. Say this horse was procured with cost as an independent variable.
21. Promote the dead horse to a supervisory position.

One day, a wise man traveling a mountain road encountered a merchant struggling to get his donkey—loaded with a large bundle of merchandise—to move. The merchant yelled and cursed repeatedly, but to no avail. The donkey stood steadfast.

The wise man watched for a while, then told the merchant, “That’s no way to get your donkey to move. You’re going about it all wrong. Don’t curse him, but encourage him. You must speak gently to him. Then he’ll do what you want.”

The frustrated merchant replied, “I’ll tell you what, If you think that will work, you try it, and we’ll see where that gets you.

The wise man agreed. He went to the side of the road, and picked up a large beam of wood he found lying ground. Then he struck the donkey a powerful blow right between the eyes! “Wait a second,”said the merchant, completely astonished. “You said to speak gently to the donkey!”

“Yes, that’s true,” replied the wise man, “but first you have to get his attention!”

The Story of the Taoist Farmer

This is the source for many vaudeville and comedy bits.

There was an old farmer who worked hard on his little farm. He never had much money, but he had one good horse, and a son who helped him. One day his horse ran away. His neighbor was upset, and commiserated with him about his bad luck. The farmer said, “What makes you think it is so bad?”

Weeks later, the horse trotted home–bringing with her two beautiful wild horses. The neighbor was excited, and congratulated the farmer on his good luck. The farmer said, “What makes you think it’s so good?”

The farmer’s son was thrown from one of the wild horses and broke his leg. His neighbor, once again upset, expressed sympathy for this bad luck. The farmer said, “What makes you think it is so bad?”

A war came, and every able-bodied man was conscripted and sent into battle. Only the farmer’s son, because he had a broken leg, remained. The neighbor was excited, and congratulated the farmer on his good luck. The farmer said, “What makes you think it’s so good?”

…There is a story regarding the Buddha which recounts how he once gave teaching to a famous sitar player who wanted to study meditation. The musician asked, “Should I control my mind or should I completely let go?” The Buddha answered, “…tell me how you would tune the strings of your instrument.” The musician said, “I would make them not too tight and not too loose.” “Likewise,” said the Buddha, “in your meditation practice you should not im­pose anything too forcefully on your mind, nor should you let it wander.” —related by Chogyum Trungpa, Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism

Three youths hid themselves on a Sabbath in a barn in order to smoke. Hasidim discovered them and wished to flog the offenders. One youth exclaimed, “I deserve no punishment, for I forgot that today is the Sabbath.” The second youth said, “And I forgot that smoking on the Sabbath is forbidden.” The third youth raised his voice and cried out “I, too, forgot.” “What did you forget?” he was asked. The lad replied, “I forgot to lock the door of the barn.”

There was one great master, a Buddhist master, Nagarjuna. A thief came to him. The thief had fallen in love with the master because he had never seen such a beautiful person, such infinite grace. He asked Nagarjuna, “Is there some possibility of my growth also? But one thing I must make clear to you: I am a thief. And another thing: I cannot leave it, so please don’t make it a condition. I will do whatsoever you say, but I cannot stop being a thief. That I have tried many times—it never works, so I have left the whole sport. I have accepted my destiny, that I am going to be a thief and remain a thief, so don’t talk about it. From the very beginning let it be clear.”

Nagarjuna said, “Why are you afraid? Who is going to talk about your being a thief? The thief said, “But whenever I go to a monk, to a religious priest, or to a religious saint, they always say, ‘First stop stealing.'” Nagarjuna laughed and said, “Then you must have gone to thieves; otherwise, why? Why should they be concerned? I am not concerned!” The thief was very happy. He said, “Then it is okay. It seems that now I can become a disciple. You are the right master.”

Nagarjuna accepted him and said, “Now you can go and do whatsoever you like. Only one condition has to be followed: be aware! Go, break into houses, enter, take things, steal; do whatsoever you like, that is of no concern to me, I am not a thief—but do it with full awareness.” The thief couldn’t understand that he was falling into the trap. He said, “Then everything is okay. I will try.” After three weeks he came back and said, “You are tricky—because if I become aware, I cannot steal. If I steal, awareness disappears. I am in a fix.”

Nagarjuna said, “No more talk about your being a thief and stealing. I am not concerned; I am not a thief. Now, you decide! If you want awareness, then you decide. If you don’t want it, then too you decide.” The man said, “But now it is difficult. I have tasted it a little, and it is so beautiful—I will leave anything, whatsoever you say. Just the other night for the first time I was able to enter the palace of the king. I opened the treasure. I could have become the richest man in the world—but you were following me, and I had to be aware. When I became aware, diamonds looked just like stones, ordinary stones. When I lost awareness, the treasure was there. And I waited and did this many times. I would become aware, and I became like a buddha, and I could not even touch it because the whole thing looked foolish, stupid—just stones, what am I doing? Losing myself over stones? But then I would lose awareness; they would become again beautiful, the whole illusion. But finally I decided that they were not worth it.”

In India many years ago, a merchant who had completed a lucrative business deal started on his way home. As he walked he counted his money, and he was pleased with the amount. After some distance, he was joined by another merchant who suggested that, as there were brigands in the area, it would be in their better interests if they traveled together. The first merchant readily agreed, not knowing that the second merchant was really a thief who had already been following the merchant for some time.

They continued their journey together. When the sun began to dip below the horizon, they came to an inn where they could spend the night. The thief suggested that they share a room. It would be cheaper, he reasoned, and they could keep one another company. The merchant readily agreed. After dinner both men, exhausted from their journey, immediately retired. In the morning the thief observed the merchant very carefully and when the merchant left the room to take his bath, the thief proceeded to search through the merchant’s bags. Finding nothing, he began to look everywhere: under the merchant’s mattress, through his clothing, under his pillow, but he could not find the money.

Later, after having breakfast, they continued on their journey. Again, in the evening, they stopped at a local inn and once more, when morning came, the same scenario took place. When the merchant had left the room, naked save for a towel wrapped around his waist, the thief searched the merchant’s bags, his clothing, under his pillow, under the mattress and so on. Again he couldn’t find the money. It began to drive him crazy. He thought again of the sight of the merchant counting his money at the side of the little road. It must be somewhere the thief thought to himself.

Once again they traveled all day. That evening, however, they came to the merchant’s house. As they were saying goodbye the thief broke down and confessed that he was not really a merchant, but a thief, and that his intention in traveling with him was to rob him of his money. “You drove me crazy” said the thief. “I looked every where, in your bags, through your clothes, under your pillow, under the mattress, I searched everywhere I could think of and I still couldn’t find the money. Tell me where you hid it and I promise you I will never steal again.”

“All right,” said the merchant, “if you really promise to not ever steal, I’ll tell you. I hid it under your pillow.”

In France, the young assistant priests do not live in the main rectory. That is reserved for the senior priest and his housekeeper. One day the priest invited his new young assistant to have dinner at the rectory. While being served, the young priest noticed how shapely and lovely the housekeeper was, and deep down in his heart he wondered if there was more between the priest and the housekeeper. After the meal, the middle-aged priest assured the young assistant that everything was purely professional, that she was the housekeeper and cook and that was that.

About a week later, the housekeeper came to the priest and said, “Father, ever since the new assistant came for dinner, I have not been able to find the beautiful silver gravy ladle. You don’t suppose he took it do you?”

The priest said, “Well, I doubt it, but I’ll write him a letter.” So he sat down and wrote: “Dear Father, I’m not saying you did take the gravy ladle, and I’m not saying you didn’t take the gravy ladle. But the fact remains that it has been missing since you were here for dinner.”

The young assistant received the letter and he answered it as follows: “Dear Father, I’m not saying that you do sleep with the housekeeper, and I’m not saying that you don’t sleep with the housekeeper, but I do know for sure that if you slept in your own bed you would find the gravy ladle.”

At the time of Sultan Mahmud of Ghazna there lived a young man by the name of Haidar Ali Jan. His father, Iskandar Khan, decided to obtain for him the patronage of the Sultan, and he sent him to study spiritual matters under the greatest sages of the time.

When Haidar Ali had mastered the repetitions, exercises, recitals, and the bodily postures of the Sufi schools, he was taken by his father into the presence of the Sultan. “Mighty Mahmud,” said Iskandar, “I have had this youth, my eldest and most intelligent son, specially trained in the ways of the Sufis, so that he might obtain a worthy position at your Majesty’s court, knowing that you are the patron of learning of our epoch.”

Mahmud did not look up, but he merely said, “Bring him back in a year.” Slightly disappointed, but nursing high hopes, Iskandar sent Haidar Ali to study the works of the great Sufis of the past, and to visit the shrines of the ancient masters in Baghdad, so that the intervening time would not be wasted.

When he brought the youth back to the court, he said, “Peacock of the Age! My son has carried out long and difficult journeys, and at the same time to his knowledge of exercises he has added a complete familiarity with the classics of the People of the Path. Pray have him examined , so that it may be shown that he could be an adornment of your Majesty’s court.”

“Let him,” said Mahmud immediately, “return after another year.” During the next twelve months, Haidar Ali crossed the Amu Darya river and visited Bukhara and Samarqand, Qasr-i-Arifin and Tashkent, Dushambe and the turbats of the Sufi saints of Turkestan.

When he returned to the court, Mahmud of Ghazna took one look at him and said, “He may care to come back after a further year.” Haidar Ali made the pilgrimage to Mecca in that year. He travelled to India, and in Persia he consulted rare books and never missed an opportunity of
seeking out and paying his respects to the great dervishes of the time.

When he returned to Ghazna, Mahmud said to him, “Now select a teacher, if he will have you, and come back in a year.” When that year was over and Iskandar Khan prepared to take his son to the court, Haidar Ali showed no interest at all in going there. He simply sat at the feet of his teacher in Herat, and nothing that his father could say would move him. “I have wasted my time and my money, and this young man has failed the tests imposed by Mahmud the King ,” he lamented, and he abandoned the whole affair.

Meanwhile, the day when the youth was due to present himself came and went, and then Mahmud said to his courtiers, “Prepare yourselves for a visit to Herat, there is someone there whom I have to see,” As the Sultan’s horse-drawn carriages entered Herat to the flourish of trumpets, Haidar Ali’s teacher took him by the hand and led him to the gate of the tekkia, where they waited. Shortly afterwards Mahmud and his courtier Ayaz, taking off their shoes, presented themselves at the sanctuary.

“Here, Mahmud,” said the Sufi sheikh, “is the man who was nothing while he was a visitor of kings, but who is now one who is visited by kings. Take him as your Sufi counselor, for he is ready.”

In a faraway place and a long-ago time, there was once a rich man who gave all his money to the poor, joined a band of hermits, and went to live with them in the desert and worship God. One day the man was sent to town with another hermit to sell two donkeys that had grown old, and could no longer carry their burdens.

He stood in the marketplace, where shoppers looking for donkeys came. They asked if his were worth buying. “If they were worth buying, do you think we’d be selling them?” he replied. “And why do they have such ragged backs and tails?” he was asked. “Because they’re old and stubborn,” he said. “We have to pull their tails and thrash them to make them move.”

Since there were no buyers for the donkeys, the man returned with them to the desert, where his companion told the other hermits what had happened. All of them demanded to know why he had frightened the buyers away. “Do you imagine for a moment,” he answered, “that I left home, gave everything away—all my camels and cattle and sheep and goats—in order to make a liar of myself for the sake of two old donkeys?”

Ibrahim Adham, a great spiritual leader of the Sufis, was wont to live in much pomp and splendor, surrounded by a large number of servants. Even his tents were pitched with golden pegs.

A wandering dervish once happened to pass by his tents, and was enormously surprised at this display of wealth by a Sufi. So he went, begging-cup in hand, to Ibrahim and questioned him thus: “It is strange that you call yourself a Sufi, and yet you are surrounded by luxury and material wealth, that even your tents are fixed with golden pegs.”

Ibrahim welcomed him, and bade him to rest awhile, and asked his servants to feed him well. After some time he asked the dervish if he would like to go along with him to Mecca, and the dervish readily agreed. They both set out on their pilgrimage, the princely Sufi leaving all his wealth and luxury behind him without a thought.

They had not walked far, when the dervish suddenly remembered that he had left his wooden cup in Ibrahim’s tent and wanted to go back to fetch it. Ibrahim smiled and said, “My friend, I left all my wealth behind without the least worry. Yet you are so much attached to a cup of practically no value that you cannot proceed to Mecca without it. The golden pegs which so much surprised you were driven into the earth, not into my heart.'”

To a wise man everyone tells the truth. For example when asking two women, who were both 39, how old they were, the first replied with her age, the second claimed she was 29. To the wise man they were both telling the truth. The first woman told her age, the second said, “I’m afraid of growing old.”

A man who took great pride in his lawn found himself with large and recurring crops of dandelions. Although he tried every method he knew to get rid of them, they continued to plague him. Finally, in desperation, he wrote the Extension Service of the Agriculture Department of the State University, enumerating all the things he had tried and concluding with the question: “What shall I do now?”

After a somewhat prolonged time even for such correspondence, the reply finally came: “We suggest you learn to love them.”

The devotee knelt to be initiated into discipleship. The guru whispered the sacred mantra into his ear, warning him not to reveal it to anyone. “What will happen if I do?” asked the devotee. Said the guru, “Anyone to whom you reveal the mantra will be liberated from the bondage of ignorance and suffering, but you yourself will be excluded from discipleship and suffer damnation.”

No sooner had he heard those words than the devotee rushed to the marketplace, collected a large crowd around him, and repeated the sacred mantra for all to hear. The disciples later reported this to the guru, and demanded that the man be expelled from the monastery for his disobedience. The guru smiled and said, “He has no need of anything I can teach. His action has shown him to be a guru in his own right.”

A disciple begged his guru, “I have searched for God in many ways. I have practiced many exercises and have offered many prayers but I still have not found God. Can you please tell me where he is?”

“I can no more tell you how to find God,”replied the guru, “than I can tell a fish how to find the ocean.”

An American investment banker was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish, and asked how long it took to catch them. The Mexican replied, “Only a little while.”

The American asked why didn’t he stay out longer, and catch more fish? The Mexican said he had enough to support his family’s immediate needs. The American then asked, “but what do you do with the rest of your time?” The Mexican fisherman said, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siesta with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos, I have a full and busy life, señor.”

The American scoffed, “I am a Harvard MBA, and could help you. You should spend more time fishing, and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village, and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually NYC where you will run your expanding enterprise.”

The Mexican fisherman asked, “But señor, how long will this all take?” To which the American replied, “15-20 years.” “But what then, señor?” asked the Mexican. The American laughed and said, “that’s the best part.” When the time is right you would announce an IPO, and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions.

“Millions, señor? Then what?” The American said, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings, where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos.”

When the founder of Hasidic Judaism, the great Rabbi Israel Shem Tov, saw misfortune threatening the Jews, it was his custom to go into a certain part of the forest to meditate. There he would light a fire, say a special prayer, and the miracle would be accomplished and the misfortune averted.

Later, when his disciple, the celebrated Maggid of Mezritch, had occasion, for the same reason, to intercede with heaven, he would go to the same place in the forest and say: “Master of the Universe, listen! I do not know how to light the fire, but I am still able to say the prayer,” and again the miracle would be accomplished.

Still later, Rabbi Moshe-leib of Sasov, in order to save his people once more, would go into the forest and say, “I do not know how to light the fire. I do not know the prayer, but I know the place, and this must be sufficient.” It was sufficient, and the miracle was accomplished.

Then it fell to Rabbi Israel of Rizhin to overcome misfortune. Sitting in his armchair, his head in his hands, he spoke to God: “I am unable to light the fire, and I do not know the prayer, and I cannot even find the place in the forest. All I can do is to tell the story, and this must be sufficient.” And it was sufficient. For God made man because He loves stories.