The day was breaking when I entered the monastery’s refectory. The Elder, as we affectionately called the eldest monk of the Order, was already enjoying a cup of coffee while savouring a slice of oatmeal cake. He smiled when he saw me. His serene joy and constant good humour were his inseparable companions. Despite having witnessed various complicated situations at the monastery, I couldn’t recall any that had managed to throw him off the light path he walked. I was impressed by his gentle strength and improbable balance in the face of the harshest provocations. It was something I admired and wished for myself. However, I was still quite far from it. I filled a mug with coffee and sat down beside him. I mentioned that this study cycle was going wonderfully well. The classes were proving to be productive, and everyone seemed satisfied with the offered learnings. However, there was a recent fact that intrigued me. Miguel, a young and cultured monk in his thirties, had arrived at the monastery emotionally shattered some time ago. His beautiful wife had passed away a few months after being struck by a devastating illness. He was inconsolable. He was embraced by the Elder with care and patience. In those days, it was common to see the two of them walking through the rose gardens of the monastery’s inner courtyard early in the morning before the day’s activities began. Miguel received the guidance and love needed to overcome a moment of extreme difficulty. Mercy is the virtue of offering our best, whether in words or actions, to alleviate someone’s suffering. A beautiful way to love. The Elder did this with uncommon dedication. Faster than I believed possible, Miguel managed to heal the painful wound. I had followed and appreciated each stage of that valuable transformation.
What intrigued me was not Miguel’s recovery, but the fact that, after two years, he had met another young woman, fallen in love, and married. The marriage itself did not surprise me, but the fact that the Elder had not been invited to the celebration. Several monks from the Order were present. I was indignant precisely because the one who had worked hardest to pull him out of the dark basement, from where he had believed he could never escape, was forgotten. The injustice troubled me. In the following study period, I observed the Elder treating him with the same care and attention as always, as if he had not been left aside. This intrigued me. I confessed that I could never manage it. The good monk frowned and said with a tone full of compassion, “He must have his reasons.” I insisted that it wasn’t fair; I asked him to explain what those reasons might be. The Elder shrugged and argued, “The reasons are his, not mine. Although I don’t know what they are, it’s not for me to assume they don’t exist or that they are insufficient. On the contrary, it’s for me to respect the choices concerning Miguel’s life. His life, his choices. A philosophical principle that underpins dignity and grounds compassion. By not imprisoning anyone to my truths and choices, I free myself from any emotional dependency, like a debt arising from the actions I’ve taken. In love, there will never be creditors or debtors. This idea dismantles suffering.” He then added, “That’s why poets sing that love liberates,” and posed a rhetorical question: “Do you understand now?”
He then continued, “I have no role in managing anyone’s choices. I only have to ensure that the best of me never escapes from my being. Nothing more. This is liberating. If I don’t strive to understand others’ difficulties and embrace inadequacies with the necessary compassion, I will spend my existence believing that the world conspires against me. It will be a childish, unnecessary, and endless suffering.” I said it wasn’t easy to act this way. He explained, “It isn’t easy because of the pre-installed software in our unconscious, called ancestral conditioning, which makes us believe that all our adversities, frustrations, and disappointments exist because I am a good person in a bad world. I feel persecuted, out of place, and constantly uncomfortable; the days become heavy. It is necessary to dismantle this limiting reasoning; otherwise, suffering will never cease. A new way of thinking, quite simple, needs to take its rightful place.” He took a sip of coffee and clarified, “In truth, without exception, we walk on the thin line between good and evil. If I react badly to evil, I also become a bad person. If someone’s dishonesty makes me act the same way, I allow the world to establish the language I will use. If I get irritated or saddened by an offence or accusation from someone, I let others’ imbalance infect me and make me suffer. There is no wisdom in that. If I become involved in hurt or resentment because of someone’s choice, I grant others the power to decide the poison that will sicken me and waste the joy essential to the lightness of days. There is no love in that. By allowing this to happen, I abandon the best of myself; my light fades. I become a bitter person, or worse, an individual who believes that malice is necessary in a wicked world. I become trapped in a foolish, stagnant, and mistaken idea.” He paused before adding, “This way of thinking seems so harmful to me that I call it quicksand. By accepting it, it will eventually swallow me.”
He took a sip of coffee and presented another perspective: “It’s up to me to decide who I will be and how I will live. No one else. I cannot justify reacting poorly or, even worse, becoming aggressive or sad because someone wronged me. As long as I continue to justify myself based on the harmful external influences I receive, it means I have not yet become the master of myself. When I react conditioned by others’ actions, there will be more of the world and less of my essence in who I am. Thus, day after day, without realising it, I become the opposite of who I want to be.”
He bit into a piece of cake before continuing: “By acting poorly because of others’ malice, I hand over the power of my life to unbalanced or ill-intentioned people. I distance myself from the light, betray my conscience, and go against my heart. As long as others’ actions serve as excuses for my poor choices, I will not be able to advance.” He shook his head and said, “I need to rid myself of delusions. Being good to those who treat me well requires no effort. Virtue lies in remaining true to my luminous purposes when faced with life’s setbacks. Virtues should guide all my words, actions, and reactions. Being the confluence of love and wisdom, virtues should become the rule and also serve as the exception in each of my decisions. They are fundamental values in building oneself. This is the cornerstone of evolution. It is the boundary between the childhood and maturity of the soul; between pain and healing. This is the power of light in my hands.”
He emptied his coffee cup and revealed, “The secret is not to let the heart be affected by the world’s inadequacies. Remember, the heart needs to be light for ideas to be clear. Otherwise, we will fall short when we could go further. There will be no freedom. Nothing within you will truly belong to you.”
That study period ended with many lessons. Among everything taught during those days, the conversation with the Elder in the refectory had the most profound impact on me. However, we are not what we know; we are what we do. Learning is only the first step in each evolutionary cycle. After that, it is necessary to transmute, share, and continue towards new and infinite transformations. Inexorably.
Twelve months had passed. It was the day when monks would arrive for a new cycle of knowledge. There would be four weeks of classes, discussions, and reflections. The refectory was the meeting place for informal conversations. As they arrived, the monks would leave their bags in their rooms and go to catch up with friends. They would also seek a cup of coffee accompanied by a slice of cake. The joy was indescribable. Many stories to tell, besides the expectations regarding the knowledge that would be shared. However, not everything is a flower in the garden. The weed of bitterness was choking my daisies; the larvae of anger were devouring my lilies. Let me explain. A close cousin of one of my daughters, upset by a choice I had made, had distorted some facts and used them to make my daughter upset with me. This created a rift between father and daughter that had never existed before, with very negative actions and reactions. We had a serious disagreement; she was aggressive as never before. We were both hurt to the point that I decided to distance myself from her indefinitely. I would also no longer provide any financial help. I considered her behaviour an ungrateful blow to the father I believed I had been to for over thirty years. Let her continue her life away from me and complete her master’s degree through her own efforts. An irrevocable decision.
Sitting at the last table, near the window with a view of the mountains, I was talking with the Elder. I recounted the events and spoke of the decision I had made. I argued that I needed to be fair to myself. Time would show her who was who. The good monk listened to me with his enormous patience and indescribable compassion without interrupting. When I finished, he made a move to speak but fell silent. He was looking attentively at the refectory door. All the monks stopped their conversations. Turning around, I understood the silence. Miguel’s entrance was impactful. The young monk was emotionally shattered once again. The reason was explained to us. His wife, with whom he had recently married after the death of his first wife, had been fatally injured in a car accident. The Elder waited for all the monks to express their solidarity, then stood up, embraced Miguel, and, like a scene from a familiar movie, took him to walk through the alleyways filled with rose bushes in the monastery’s inner garden.
I had always had the habit of waking up very early, with the stars still high in the sky. During those days, as I made my way to the refectory in search of the first cups of coffee, I would see them talking while walking among the roses. Sitting at the table near the window overlooking the garden, I observed them and reflected. Even though he was overlooked at the party, the Elder had again extended his hand in misfortune. He had not become bitter because others had acted poorly towards him. He was the same good man as before. He had not allowed anything or anyone to remove him from his axis of light. The inevitable hardships of life would never prevent his best from blossoming and bearing fruit in the world. He not only knew this but also lived it. This translated into undeniable beauty and intangible lightness. I had a clear sense that there was a giant within that frail and old body.
After two weeks, although not fully recovered—something that would still take some time—Miguel was somewhat stronger and more balanced. He was already walking alone through the rose garden. At that moment, it was important for him to do so, to start believing in himself again and, consequently, in the irresistible power of life. As had become a habit during those days, I watched him through the refectory window while the coffee fuelled my reflections. It was then that the Elder appeared unannounced and sat down beside me. Before I could say a word, he asked, “Still bitter and resentful?” I understood that the good monk was continuing the conversation interrupted on the day of our arrival at the monastery. He was referring to the emotions that had taken over me after the argument with my daughter. I reaffirmed my decision to distance myself from her. The Elder looked at me with compassion and asked, “Are you going to play by the rules of the shadows?” Before I could justify myself, he added, “Are you going to become a bad man because others have acted badly towards you?” In a Socratic style, he continued, “What difference will there be between you and any troglodyte?” The questions delved deeper into the nuances of reasoning.
Conflicted between the dense emotions that narrowed my choices and the truth that highlighted my conscience, I took some time to reply. I explained that I needed to be fair to myself. My daughter had been excessively aggressive and needed to understand the boundary she had crossed. Respect is fundamental. The Elder frowned and argued, “One of the greatest delusions is using good ideas to support the worst solutions. Undoubtedly, respect is very important in any relationship, but is banishment the only or best way to resolve this? Is there wisdom in depriving yourself of interaction and denying love? To distance yourself from your daughter is to give up all the good that has always existed between you. Would that be fair to you and to her?” He then concluded, while still offering possibilities for regeneration through his questions: “By choosing to withdraw, you will fall into the trap set by those who manipulated your daughter as bait. Will you let malice win? Will you abdicate your light?”
Regeneration is about returning to the point of the fall; getting up and continuing to walk. Stronger and more balanced, moving towards what was until then unimaginable.
Before allowing me to find the answers I needed, the Elder gave me a clue: “Good choices leave no bitter taste in the heart.” A rebellious tear revealed the purification my soul craved. As I immersed myself in the light from those words, love occupied its rightful place within me, without which nothing would make sense. Though simple, it was not an ordinary conversation; only the right questions lead us to the best solutions. I understood what choices I should make from then on to resolve the conflict with my daughter in a wise and loving manner. There should be compassion so that we could forgive each other; simplicity to remove the masks of deceit; humility for each to admit their own mistakes. Moreover, great attention to never again become pieces on the board of others’ imbalance, mere pawns in the hands of others’ malice. A trap permitted by our poor reactions to evil. However, virtues will always be available to illuminate any shadows. It’s just a matter of learning how to use them. The Elder curved his lips into a slight smile and whispered, “The best solutions will always lead us to the beauty of encounters.” The good monk shared an undeniable truth with me: “Malice is like quicksand. It manifests through a thousand deceptions and hides behind unusual characters. Until we understand how this works within us, we will be swallowed every day.”
He asked for permission and went about his tasks, not without first taking a mug of coffee with him. As soon as the sun rose, I would call my daughter. It would be a beautiful conversation, as all conversations of love are. I had no doubt about it. Through the window, I watched Miguel’s regeneration as he relearned how to live. Although for different reasons, a similar opportunity had been granted to me in those days. In the background, I saw the Elder walking down the monastery’s side corridor, his steps slow but firm. His hand was extended to everyone. The good monk no longer allowed himself to succumb to the quicksand of misunderstandings that make us unwilling partners in malice.
Translated by Cazmilian Zórdic.
