Mori the Student

A young guy named Mori went to Japan, to one of the temples around Kyoto, with the intention of learning meditation. He brings along an interpreter, gains permission to join the class of a Zen master and begins lessons. The master neither encourages nor discourages the presence of the interpreter.

A couple of weeks go by. Rising early, Mori attends daily meditation sessions, joins the communal meals, helps with cleaning tasks and other duties, same as everyone else at the temple, who were mostly novice monks. All the while, the interpreter explains things and relays instructions to Mori, who believes he is doing well and is on his way to becoming an adept meditator.

Then, unexpectedly, the interpreter falls ill and is taken away to another part of the compound. Young Mori is left in a quandary, thinking if he is not able to understand the Zen master’s instructions, he will need to stop.

At the next class, the master, using hand gestures, sends him to his usual position – to his meditation pillow – and continues as usual. A brief discourse is given followed by chanting and meditation. Mori does not understand a thing. But he observes. Listens. Really observes. And follows. The meditation and teaching session ends with the student not understanding a word of the language but somehow, getting bits and pieces of the lesson.

This continues for another week. And another. Mori learns a few basic phrases which he uses outside class but most of his time is spent observing and listening and following, silently. Sometimes he made mistakes. Did the wrong thing at the wrong time. Sometimes he was too fast, as he anticipated the next step. But he learns to follow eventually. He learns to do things unhurriedly, because it was not possible for him to hurry. He learns to ignore everything that isn’t important. And once a lesson is done, he has to drop it in order to move to the next one, just to keep up. There is very little to interpret or listen to, but much to simply observe and follow. Living moment by moment, his focus deliberately employed thus, he spends a long time at the temple.

Along the way, he had gone looking for his interpreter several times in the other compounds of the temple. He tried unsuccessfully to make contact with the latter. He eventually learnt that the interpreter had recovered from his food poisoning and left the temple shortly after the incident.

Several years later, Mori leaves the temple, having achieved his aim of learning Zen meditation.

Several more years later, he is back in his home country, far away from Japan, and as he sometimes does, was giving part time meditation classes for beginners. A Japanese couple came to attend Mori’s class. They didn’t speak English and so brought along an interpreter. Would you believe it? It turned out to be the same interpreter who had gone with young Mori to the temple in Kyoto.

Both Mori and the interpreter embraced warmly and moved away from the main meditation area to speak. They were glad to see one another after their abrupt separation in Japan all those years ago. The interpreter was pleased to see that Mori had persevered until his training was completed, although in fact, one remains a lifelong student upon embarking on the journey of Zen meditation. Mori asked the question that he had put aside all these years.

What had happened at the temple? Did the interpreter suffer from food poisoning? Why did he not at least come and see him and let him know before going away?

The interpreter smiled.

‘Were you poisoned by the food given by the monks? We all ate the same food at the same time in the mess hall. I don’t remember anyone else being affected.

‘There was no food poisoning,’ answered the interpreter, happy to see no trace of anger in Mori’s eyes.

‘Did they ask you to leave?’

‘Not exactly,’ said the interpreter as he shook his head.

‘What if I had quit the classes after you left?’ Mori asked.

‘After two weeks, I could see as well as the master that you were not going to truly benefit from the lessons as long as I remained there. Everything at the temple – from the instructions to the explanation for the diet, answers to your questions about the customs and significance of things – was reaching you through me. I was a filter that distorted the message, no matter how sincere my intention was or how perfectly I did my task. The message you were receiving was no longer pure. So the master and I spoke and we agreed that the best course was for me to leave and allow you to process the entire experience as a student by yourself, in your own way and at your own pace.’

Both men remained side by side.

‘What if I had quit the classes after you left?’ Mori asked, after a moment of silence.

‘Then you wouldn’t have been the right student for the meditation anyway’, came the ready reply.

A pair of smiles appeared on their faces. Of course. Everything, as it should be.

photo from unsplash.com by Agathe Marthy