A zen master had been away from home for several days. He had not really enjoyed his trip. It was not that the monastery he visited was any less comfortable than his own humble home (which only provided the basic necessities for survival anyway). What he missed was the familiarity of his own surroundings.

The bed did not feel like his own. He missed the prayerful whisper of the breeze through the eaves of his timber house. The same bird songs did not accompany his morning meditation. When he finally started for home, his heart lifted.

Unfortunately, tragedy had struck in his absence. The Zen master arrived to find that his home had been burned to the ground. All that remained was a parched piece of earth, a surprisingly tiny pile of blackened ash, and the smoky smell of his lost abode.

He stood staring at the charred remains. “Why me?” he asked initially. “I’ve been away teaching, doing good, wishing happiness on all fellow beings. “What did I do to deserve this?” But he soon realized that the powers of the universe had not singled him out for any special treatment. It was just one of those unfortunate life events. Such questions could only lead to pain and depression. They would not help him to deal with the loss, find a purposeful direction for the future, or take immediate action like finding a place to sleep for the night.

A wave of sadness washed over him. He had really liked his little home and its comforting familiarity. For years his homecomings had felt like returning to a beloved friend. Then he reminded himself that, as a Zen master, he should not be attached to material possessions. Yet somehow the sadness seemed appropriate. It was, he assured himself, acceptable to grieve for a loss, so he stayed in the moment, mindful of his sadness, until it felt like it was time to move on.

Next he found himself wishing it hadn’t happened. He wished he had stayed at home. He wished he had checked to ensure that his cooking fire had been extinguished. If only he had done those thing his little home might still be there. “But,” he assured himself, “it has been destroyed. that is the reality. No matter what I wish, I can’t change that. Wishing for something that can’t be changed can only result in more unhappiness and suffering.”

As he focused on the charred remains of his house, he continued to be plagued with questions and doubts. Realizing this, he lifted his gaze to the sky. Twinkling stars dotted the dark backdrop of the heavens. A full moon smiled down benevolently. A sudden thought struck him and made him smile. “I may have lost a house but, at last, I have an uninterrupted view of the sky at night.”

—

Focusing on the blessing of what we have in the present rather than on the bane of what we have lost in the past keeps us moving ahead on the journey toward wholeness.