This story took place many years ago. The sky blended hues of pink and blue in a cloudless dawn. It was cold. The sounds of animals in the forest surrounding the monastery could be easily heard. The Elder, as we affectionately called the oldest monk of the Order, sat at the last table in the canteen by the window overlooking the mountains. He smiled when he saw me. I filled a cup with coffee and sat beside him. Breakfast would soon be served, and the quiet atmosphere would be replaced by the lively chatter of dozens of monks.
We were talking about the day’s activities when I noticed a change in the Elder’s expression. Sitting with my back to the door, I turned to understand the reason for the sudden seriousness in his gaze. Pedro, one of the youngest monks in the Order and dearly loved for his affectionate nature, had just entered. His face was troubled, and I was taken aback. Contrary to his usual demeanour, a heavy aura seemed to follow him. He was visibly agitated. After hesitating between a cup of tea or coffee, he chose neither and came to our table, sitting down with an arrogance unfamiliar to us.
At that time, the world was being introduced to the fantastic virtual universe brought by the rapid advances in computing and its unimaginable possibilities. Skilled in this new language, Pedro made it accessible to the other monks, who, though intrigued, lacked his ease with the emerging technology. Always attentive and kind—hallmarks of his character—Pedro simplified life at the monastery through the surprising pathways of the digital world.
Without his usual gentleness, Pedro announced he was leaving the Order for good. The Elder, observing him with a balance of seriousness and serenity, asked if something had prompted such a drastic decision. The young monk said he was tired of everyone in the monastery taking advantage of his skills without giving him the recognition he deserved. He mentioned that the Elder had held him accountable the previous day for failing to deliver a task on time, which had delayed other activities. Indeed, Pedro had been neglectful of his duties in recent weeks. When questioned about his responsibilities, his replies had been short.
The once-gentle young man had become withdrawn. We hadn’t paid much attention, attributing his behaviour to his love for a beautiful young woman. With a wedding planned, he often left to answer long phone calls from his fiancée—this was before mobile signals reached the monastery in the mountains. The monks understood this as part of his transitional phase, which would take time to adjust. No one harboured any resentment towards him.
In recent days, the Elder had been watching Pedro closely. The previous afternoon, he had gently reminded the young monk:
“Never lose your wonder at life’s marvels. Embrace them fully. However, do not neglect your commitments, for they grant depth and breadth to existence. Days without purpose make life shallow; achievements will be superficial and fleeting, and the colours of all things will soon fade.”
Pedro claimed this reprimand had crossed the line and spurred his decision. He felt unappreciated, giving much and receiving little in return. He was done with what he called exploitation.
I intervened. Acknowledging the value of Pedro’s skills, I reminded him of the philosophy classes, the teachings on metaphysics, history, psychoanalysis, and many other subjects offered at the monastery. If he could evaluate without emotional turmoil, he might realize the richness he had been given and how those tools could benefit his life. He dismissed this, arguing that all that knowledge could be found in books, negating the need to leave home to access it. He considered his time and money wasted at the monastery.
I pointed out another treasure: the fellowship driven by transcendent interests, the conversations and debates that unveil layers of understanding beyond the reach of mere reading. Another’s perspective could reveal or deepen an insight. Pedro dismissed this as trivial compared to what he had contributed. He expressed anger over the reprimand for something he hadn’t had time to complete, claiming it devalued the significant contributions he had made. He added that he had been naive upon joining the Order after his father’s death—a beloved and respected monk in the community. Now, grown and mature, he would no longer allow himself to be, as he put it, “drained.”
There was hatred in his eyes. I didn’t recognize him.
The monks arrived for breakfast. Stunned, they sensed the heavy atmosphere but didn’t understand it. Pedro left, bidding everyone goodbye with a mere nod. Alone with the Elder, I remarked how shocked I was. This was a different Pedro from the one we had all grown fond of.
The wise monk explained:
“It is the same young man. We all, to varying degrees, have compartments within us that, depending on the influences we allow, open to reveal the dragon hidden inside. This dragon can consume us, causing us to lose control and surrender to the unknown parts of ourselves. These are the roots of our most common downfalls.” He paused before adding, “The dragon’s allure lies in convincing us of a power we do not possess, making us believe we are someone we desire to be but have not yet become. Pride, vanity, and greed are the dragon’s weapons. It points to the world as an enemy to conquer—a futile battle.”
I expressed my disappointment at Pedro’s ingratitude. Since joining the Order after his father’s death, he had been warmly welcomed and cared for. The Elder frowned and said seriously:
“I think you should study the Tao Te Ching.”
Curious, I asked why. At the time, I hadn’t yet been introduced to Li Tzu, the Taoist master. He explained:
“In one poem, Lao Tzu teaches that the sage completes the work without attachment. Value does not lie in the steel and concrete of a robust building, for its durability alone doesn’t save it from impermanence. Its true worth lies in providing shelter during life’s storms and in the invisible truths lived within its walls. Whether or not this shelter is recognized by those it housed is irrelevant. Ingratitude serves no one. Never mourn a departure; love leaves a fragrance that time cannot erase. Ultimately, darkness has its purpose—it propels those who fall into life’s abysses back toward the light. Most often, their return is permanent. Wisdom resides in subtle certainties.”
Weeks later, the Order was notified to defend itself in a legal action. Pedro was demanding payment for the IT services he had provided. Some of the monks were talented lawyers, others respected judges. They unanimously assured that it would be easy to prove the young man’s claim unfounded. A foolish act, they said. However, the Elder declined to draft any defence to contest the claim. Instead, he requested a calculation of the average market value of the work performed. That amount was proposed in court, and Pedro’s agreement to the offer brought the matter to a close. Except for the good monk, who remained unfazed by the event, everyone in the monastery was quite upset with the young man.
I had the opportunity to ask the Elder why he had taken such a stance. He once again cited the Tao Te Ching: “In his timeless poem of rare wisdom, Lao Tzu teaches that individuals achieve the maturity of existence when guided by a refined sense of justice. Immature people cry out for their rights; they still need laws to justify their choices.” He paused before continuing: “Moreover, as long as the lawsuit lasted—and it could take a long time—the feeling of animosity would linger, as is common in any ongoing war; the wounds would remain open and, worse, would spread through the soul. By ending the lawsuit, we allowed the healing process to begin, as the source of the disease was eradicated with the end of the dispute. It is the beginning of recovery.”
I remarked that the monks who worked in the legal field had assured that the Order would face no great difficulty in winning the legal battle with Pedro. The Elder responded: “Certainly, they unanimously said the chances of success were huge. However, they did not say it was guaranteed. They noted that, from the perspective of a minority view among jurists, the young man’s claim might be upheld. Evidently, this perspective, though unlikely, led Pedro to see us as usurpers. If, in any sense, the law grants someone a right, even if we consider it unfounded or unfair, we should give what is asked of us. In other words, Lao Tzu teaches the same lesson as the Gospel when it says: ‘Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, and unto God what is God’s.’ Some are guided by the values of the world; others by those of the heart. Understanding each request means understanding the reasons behind it.”
Before I could make further arguments, he continued: “True justice is a virtue that is hard to achieve. Being just is a rare attitude on this planet, although most people consider themselves just. They think this way when asserting their rights or denying interests that conflict with their own. In summary, in the shallow understanding of justice, it prevails when we win; we feel wronged whenever we lose. Few people manage, with due balance and free will, devoid of resentment and petty interests, to give up something simply because it is someone else’s right. In such cases, they prefer conflict; thus, emotions are torn, sufferings are prolonged, and bitterness and difficulties are brought into daily life.” He furrowed his brows and added: “By exalting worldly achievements, we lose our connection to the essence of life. We value the ephemeral at the expense of the eternal. Despite all the movement and effort, the days will remain empty. Legal victories cannot fit into our luggage; the sense of justice achieved can; the peace and dignity that was built too.”
I argued that he, the Elder, was being overly generous. The good monk corrected me: “No, I’m merely striving to acquire a virtue I do not yet possess.” He then concluded: “If Pedro believes the help he provided to the monastery has a price, we should pay it. Conversely, the invaluable lessons we offered him were given out of love. Therefore, he owes us nothing. We could not even consider the possibility of an exchange. The feelings that motivated us were entirely different.” He shrugged and concluded: “We did what had to be done. If you pay attention, you’ll understand that we lost nothing.” With a serene expression, the good monk’s eyes reflected an indescribable light.
A few years passed. We heard no more of the young man.
After finishing the class on Shiur—The Journey of Self-Discovery Through Sacred Texts, for which I was responsible, I headed to the refectory to grab a cup of coffee. On the way, I was informed that Pedro was at the gate. Since I now held a position in the monastery’s administration, I informed them that only monks were allowed to enter. Visitors needed to make prior arrangements. Upon hearing the instructions, the Elder remarked: “The young man’s harsh words still echo in your heart.” Harsh and unfair, I corrected him. The elder monk intervened: “Let us receive him. Despite the manner of his departure, we must not forget all the conveniences and good things he brought us.” I argued that we had offered far more, with no recognition on his part. The good monk asked: “What is the exact measure for such a comparison?” Love, I replied. The Elder reminded me: “At that time, this was not a measure available to the young man. Not that love was absent within him, but he did not yet know how to love. We must have compassion. Otherwise, the best of what we’ve learned will be wasted.”
Before I could reply, the Elder continued: “Like fear, resentment is not a good counsellor. I may be mistaken, but I believe the greatest harm Pedro did was to himself. Let us listen to him, not out of mere curiosity or the hateful pleasure of vengeance, but out of humility and compassion.” Then he added: “In the wilderness of existence, we deal with people as if they are either threats or feasts; in the maturity of life, we see everyone as genuine teachers capable of offering us indispensable lessons.” Furrowing his brow, he said: “This defines who we are and where we are.”
Pedro was brought to the meeting room. He appeared weary and sorrowful. Standing before the Elder, he embraced him tightly and wept profusely. The good monk held the young man on his shoulder for several minutes. Then, as they sat down, the young man struggled to speak. Still choking on his tears, he said he had a lot to tell but didn’t know where to begin. He tried several times, realizing each time that it might not be the best way to narrate everything that had happened to him since he left the monastery, only to backtrack and try another approach. Eventually, he admitted he was too emotional to form a linear and coherent narrative. Overwhelming memories clouded his clarity of thought. He confessed that within him was a chest brimming with disorganized emotions and events. The Elder came to his aid: “If you could take one single thing from that chest capable of summarizing the story in just one word, what would it be?” Regret, Pedro replied without hesitation.
What a fool, I thought. Everything must have gone wrong, and now he returns seeking help. Then, the young man defined his reason for returning to the monastery in a single word as well: forgiveness. There was honesty in his plea. That’s when I noticed a rebellious tear streaming down the wrinkled face of the Elder; the young man’s heart had been touched by truth, love, and justice. At that moment, I began to understand that genuine justice always carries an important educational aspect. Back then, none of us understood the Elder; our eyes couldn’t see as far as his. I saw only the present moment, but nothing truly ends here and now; life continues with its inevitable consequences. To understand the truth, one must free themselves from the confines of time.
The good monk said to the young man: “There is nothing to forgive. Sincere repentance frees you. At that moment, you acted as you knew best; now, it is about doing differently and better. I see great strength in you. The foundation of humility, the primary virtue of the Way, is the love of learning, growth, and the beauty found in life’s simplicity.”
Yes, everything had gone wrong. Yes, Pedro needed help. This wasn’t inherently bad or good. It all depended on how we would react.
Feeling more at ease, the young man told us what we knew and what we didn’t. Having already lost his mother, the death of his father left him with a deep sense of abandonment. He was taken in by the monks at the monastery, a crucial event that helped him rediscover purpose and direction in life. However, at the end of his period of study, everyone returned to their homes, routines, and projects. He, too, had to return to his own life; he needed and wanted to finish university, a fundamental step in pursuing his dreams.
During one of his courses, he met Eva. They fell in love. Her family was charmed by Pedro’s loving and gentle nature. For the first time in a long while, he felt the wonderful sense of belonging to a family. Within months, their wedding was set. There was no doubt—they were made for each other. Those were days of intense passion.
When it was time for him to return to the monastery, it coincided with a job offer arranged by Eva’s father. Pedro declined the invitation to continue his esoteric studies. That’s when he received advice to reconsider, as such an opportunity couldn’t be wasted for the sake of knowledge that would add little or nothing to his professional career. His fiancée also wanted him to stay close. Learning that the monks were utilizing his expertise in an area still unfamiliar to most people, an idea formed in his mind: he was being exploited while wasting a genuine chance to advance his career. Influenced by these thoughts, Pedro convinced himself that he was already who he aspired to become—a common moment when we leap into the abyss of existence, believing in wings that haven’t yet grown, thus giving the dragon control.
Nonetheless, he went to the monastery. But he didn’t arrive there whole. His body travelled; his mind stayed behind. Eva’s constant phone calls reminded him of a reality shaped by the frame that confined his thoughts. What we believe to be true lays the foundation for the next chapter of our story. Whether it’s ascent or fall, there is no surprise—it’s always a choice.
Pedro received a considerable amount from the Order as part of the legal settlement. He got married. He experienced a period of intense euphoria, filled with traveling and extravagant spending. The internship, however, turned out to be less valuable than anticipated. After graduating, the job offers he received didn’t come with the salaries he felt his skills deserved. His income was insufficient to sustain his wife’s lifestyle. Debt and arguments followed. The instability he had shown in his final days at the monastery escalated. The once-kind and loving young man grew irritable. He became negligent at work, missing deadlines. When confronted, he didn’t apologize; he reacted with the same arrogance he’d displayed to the monks. He was a talented and unique professional; the company had to consider all the good he’d done. They could wait. He was fired.
The marriage fell apart. The divorce brought relief but also severed an important support network. Eva soon entered a new relationship, cutting off her family’s interest in anything related to Pedro. Divorced, unemployed, and alone, he felt lost and abandoned. All the theories about conquering the world were useless in sustaining his mental and emotional stability. However, the few teachings he had absorbed at the monastery about conquering oneself began to show some value. Thanks to them, he was still standing; because of them, he knew he could start over, provided he sought the balance and strength within himself.
To return to the monastery, he could no longer confuse arrogance with dignity or humility with humiliation—a fundamental life lesson.
Marriage wasn’t inherently bad or destructive. That’s not what Pedro meant. Family is an invaluable space for learning the love that binds us. But he spoke of the question: which voice should we listen to? Influences shape our paths and, therefore, our destinies. Or, as the Elder told me back then, they unlock hidden compartments within us. Some people awaken the unknown sage; most, the sleeping dragon. One elevates us; the other consumes us.
Initially, one door was flung open; only later was another unlocked. The sage came after the dragon. But it didn’t have to be that way. Suffering is only necessary when love and wisdom are absent.
Finally, Pedro asked to be readmitted to the ranks of the Esoteric Order of the Mountain Monks. Even if he were forbidden from asking questions during lessons or participating actively in debates. He would be content simply to listen and coexist with the monks. I intervened with what I deemed appropriate strictness. I argued that, by the fraternity’s guiding principles, no one was banned forever. Eternal penalties are infinitely unfair and contrary to the noble values of growth. The solution was to reapply and wait his turn. I noted that the waiting list was long.
The Elder, who had been silently and attentively listening to both Pedro and me, placed an application form and a pen on the desk. Resigned, the young man filled it out without a word and handed it to me. Though sad, his eyes showed understanding of the decision. Then the Elder asked me about the admission criteria for the Order. Surprised by the question, since he knew them as well as any other monk, I explained that there were two. One was the waiting list. The other was the invitation extended to someone we deemed ready or in a position to contribute to everyone’s learning, having fully processed a transformative experience.
The Elder reflected, “I believe Pedro fits perfectly into the latter category. His learned lessons are evident and deeply valuable for all. The insights he has gained through attentive and thoughtful observation can help many avoid the need for suffering—if they can recognize when the sage or the dragon manifests within them.”
He turned to the young man and said: “Welcome back to the monastery.” Then he stood up, opened his arms, and embraced Pedro. With tearful eyes and a trembling voice, the young man promised he would give no one reason to regret the opportunity extended to him in that moment. The Elder told him to go to the secretary, get the key to a vacant room, draw up a study plan for the period, and start immediately. Without remorse or guilt—but with the joy of self-reconstruction.
I was stunned. That word defined me in that moment, though I could not deny my admiration for the Elder’s wisdom and courage, expressed in a decision brimming with love and understanding. Love, because of the compassion and forgiveness displayed in such a challenging yet beautiful moment. Wisdom, for recognizing the humility and simplicity in Pedro’s gesture. The good monk seized the daily bread of life to once again exercise the finest justice, aligned with the teachings of the Sermon on the Mount, the central axis of learning in the monastery.
For many, this would have been the perfect moment to unleash the dormant dragon, revelling in the sinister pleasure found in vengeance, dragging them into the dungeons of existence. For others, it was a moment to bring forth the sage to take the lectern in this wonderful and magical school of life. The dragon will always be lurking; the sage will always be waiting. Which door you open is always a simple choice.
I said nothing. After Pedro had left, as if he could read my thoughts, the Elder explained without me needing to ask a single question: “His story is no different from mine or yours. Pedro was defeated by himself, by the influences he allowed to take control. There is no other type of fall. When it happens, an opaque wall rises before us, leading us to believe that the light of the essence of who we truly are no longer exists. In reality, we have simply lost access to that powerful and essential flame. We distance ourselves from who we genuinely are.”
He arched his lips into a gentle smile and elaborated: “The wall rises due to the dominant shadows in our choices, and so darkness prevails. We become unable to move forward. By dismantling the wall, we make the connection; the flame of learning burns steadily again; another transmutation occurs. Everything changes. To shortsighted eyes, Pedro suffered a harsh defeat; but to those with sharper vision, he achieved the greatest victory by starting the journey back home, to the core of his being, the only place in the universe where he can discover, find, and conquer all his beauty and greatness. Then, he will gain access to complete balance and strength. His light will join the light of the world.”
He then pointed to his own chest and, though speaking softly and calmly, made a vigorous salute: “Hail to the battlefields! May they be Sacred!”
Afterward, he excused himself and left, as he had to prepare notes for that evening’s lecture at the monastery. I watched him walk away with his slow yet steady steps, illuminating everything and everyone along his path.
Translated by Cazmilian Zórdic.
