Mornings at the monastery are inspiring. The mountains, the surrounding forest, the sun pushing away the autumn chill, the season when the courses are held, and the welcoming architecture of the century-old stone building create an atmosphere of intrinsic search, aiming to expand one’s way of walking through life with greater balance and strength. It was one of those mornings. The classes unfolded smoothly; knowledge was offered with the hope that it would become a precious tool of guidance, enabling a gentle and light navigation through the seas of existence, even amid turbulent waters and chaotic winds. However, the training of a ship’s pilot is not always smooth and friendly; sometimes, the learning process, where knowledge acts as a catalyst for action to transform one’s way of being and living, leaves marks that cannot be erased.
As happened every three years, a new board of directors was to be elected in the Esoteric Order of the Mountain Monks. Since the structure was simple and straightforward, only a few positions were necessary, just four, filled either by nomination, when one monk suggested another’s name, or by candidacy if someone volunteered for a position. In both cases, approval by the majority was required. The Elder, as we affectionately called the oldest monk in the brotherhood, had long been nominated as general director by acclamation. His kindness in personal interactions, combined with refined wisdom and extreme simplicity, granted him an enormous unifying ability, something crucial to maintaining the common unity of any community. That year, I was completing a three-year term as administrative secretary, a role that, in broad terms, was responsible for making the monastery function. The other positions were treasurer and academic coordinator. By tradition, the person in the role usually nominated their successor.
Although only a week remained until the assembly, I had not yet thought about whom I would nominate as my successor. However, I was approached by two monks, at different times, bringing innovative ideas for monastery administration. Given that their professional careers were based on running businesses that, in one way or another, had changed market or consumer relations in their respective sectors, there was no doubt that they were capable of proposing modifications to make the brotherhood’s mechanisms more dynamic. Although they asked for nothing, I understood that they were willing to take on the commitment. When I asked if they would accept the mission, both said they would be honoured if nominated. I was not surprised. It is not always about pride and vanity; many people have an authentic vocation and a sincere desire to serve the community. It was up to me to understand which situation applied to each of them. I was suddenly seized by doubt, which needed to be resolved given the responsibility that rested on me.
In a conversation with Kamadewa, an Indian monk who was the current academic coordinator, and, like me, was completing a three-year term—he also needed to nominate someone as his successor. During an apparently informal discussion about Shiur—The Journey of Self-Knowledge Through Sacred Texts, the course I had been responsible for teaching during my term, he asked me which courses I thought should be maintained and which needed to be replaced or restructured for the next study cycle. The topic excited me. I eagerly shared my ideas. When Kamadewa asked if I would accept the nomination for his role, my heart pounded with joy. Replacing him was an immense honour; he had been my teacher in the Shiur course when I first joined the Order.
As usual, I woke up early. When I arrived at the cafeteria, I found the Elder sitting at the table by the window overlooking the mountains. I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat beside him. He greeted me with a warm smile and, as if reading my thoughts, asked whom I would nominate as my successor in administration. I told him that Frank and Hilton had approached me. I knew the responsibility of making the best choice, as a wrong decision could harm the monastery. The Elder eased the weight I had placed on my shoulders:
“Your nomination must go through the assembly’s scrutiny; thus, the final decision belongs to everyone in the Order. However, this does not exempt you from attention and care in the choice you make. Words project the credibility of the one who speaks them. Although no one is responsible for the mistakes of others, avoid the embarrassment of having your nomination justly rejected. Remember that you can also nominate a third monk if you find him more suitable for the role. Never narrow choices that can be expanded; otherwise, you might overlook the best one.”
I replied that the issue was not a lack of options but rather the need to decide between two equally excellent choices. Choosing one would mean losing the other. The Elder corrected me: “Nothing is lost when the best choice is made”. I asked how I would know which decision was the right one. The wise monk explained: “The right choice is the one that results in transformation, allowing us to reach what was previously unknown; or the one that comes from a mature perspective, granting the clarity that removes all doubt”. I asked how I could achieve this in this specific case. The Elder whispered as if revealing a secret: “Want to get to know someone? Either inflate or squeeze them.”
Before I could ask for an explanation, he changed the subject: “I believe I will need your help. We have a serious matter to resolve. Lucas, the current treasurer, has misused a significant amount of money. His actions not only violate the monastery’s collective rules but also breach a developed sense of ethical code, which is a purely personal commitment”. I asked what the prescribed punishment was. “Expulsion”, he replied. The Elder continued: “I don’t want Lucas to be exposed before the entire brotherhood. That would be an unnecessary humiliation, an absurd regression to times when people were judged and hanged in public squares. Compassion and gentleness must never be lacking. Justice must serve an educational purpose, so it does not become an act of mere vengeance or the petty gratification of immature judges in front of a savage audience. We will conduct a discreet and confidential trial. I will appoint four monks to form the tribunal”. He paused briefly before continuing: “I thought of inviting Kamadewa, Hilton, Frank, and you. In the event of a tie, I will cast the deciding vote. Can I count on you?” I nodded in agreement.
At that moment, I realized I was being honoured within the Order. A probable nomination for one of the most important positions in a brotherhood devoted to knowledge, that of academic coordinator, by a monk like Kamadewa, whose training began in the poetic verses of the Bhagavad Gita and matured in the philosophy department of one of Europe’s most prestigious universities. As if that were not enough, I also had the trust of the Elder, a man of rare and refined wisdom, entrusting me with a difficult mission. I understood that I had ascended an important step in my spiritual evolution.
I asked for more details. The Elder said the facts would only be revealed during the trial. He reminded me of the need for absolute discretion so that Lucas would not be deprived of the respect he deserved. “Even criminals, though they must face responsibility for their mistakes, deserve it. Virtue and truth do not need fanfare”. The monks began to arrive for breakfast. The Elder got up to leave and, as if anticipating what was to come, whispered: “No matter what others do. Always have the gentleness to never harm anyone. That will speak volumes about you, about whether you align with the light or still stumble over temptations and get tangled in restrictions”. I was absolutely convinced that such a danger did not exist for me.
We were in the last week of that study period. I went to the library to prepare for the two remaining Shiur classes; I loved the course. I wanted to leave the students with the same sense of enchantment that Kamadewa had instilled in me when he was my teacher. Almost at the time of starting the class, I was called to the Elder’s office. When I arrived, everyone who made up the tribunal was waiting for me. I understood that the trial would take place at that moment. I asked them to postpone it until after my class. The Elder refused. He explained that waiting would serve the ill purpose of prolonging Lucas’s anguish and embarrassment. A decision, whatever it was, would allow for a new beginning and, if necessary, the essential process of regeneration. “In this specific case, waiting would be cruel and unnecessary; indecision and doubt drain one’s spirit by casting the soul into the limbo of uncertainty. It would be like waiting for a train without knowing whether it will arrive,” he explained. The Elder informed me that he had already asked another monk to teach the class in my place.
I did not like being replaced without any consultation. Besides, it wouldn’t have hurt to wait just a few hours. Though displeased, I did not argue; I tried to understand that, on a scale of priorities, my presence there was more important. Then, the Elder gave a brief summary of the facts. Lucas had manipulated the accounting records to divert a considerable sum from the Order’s accounts. He then granted the monk the sacred right of defence. Lucas explained that, as the owner of a factory with nearly five hundred employees, he needed to settle some debts or risk having bankruptcy declared. If each employee had an average of four family members, two thousand people would be affected by the factory’s closure. His bank credit lines had been exhausted. They had been slow to modernize, but with the purchase of new machinery, he had once again become competitive in the market. His intention was to repay the Order within a few months, a year at most, he assured. He knew what he had done was not right, but he admitted that, at that moment, he could not find a better way. He did not want to leave the monastery under such a dishonourable accusation. He apologized and, just as importantly, asked for the chance to prove he was telling the truth. He admitted that words alone were not enough; he needed to do more. If he had not been honest before, he now begged for the opportunity to become so from that moment onward. He pleaded for a chance.
It was time for each of the four judges to present their votes with proper reasoning. A simple “yes” for the sake of “yes” or a “no” for the sake of “no” only supports decisions wrapped in arrogance and pride; wisdom demands the best reasons. The Elder asked Frank to speak first. The monk had a gift for oratory and persuasion. With ease, he argued that an important link had been broken: trust. A broken chain holds nothing together. He stated that no relationship can survive without credibility. It is impossible to coexist with someone who has harmed us in a deceitful way; the future would be filled with doubt and uncertainty. He reminded us that relationships need clarity to be healthy. Although the Order had no precedent for loans, introducing this new form of support as an essential innovation was not out of the question. However, Lucas had not even tried to have a conversation. He had prioritized his own interests without considering the serious consequences that such a financial loss could cause the monastery. He recalled, as we had learned in our studies, that one never reaches the right destination by taking the wrong path. He regretted the situation for Lucas, acknowledged his good service over the years, but believed we should not set a precedent or condone such a grave error. Otherwise, from that moment forward, ethics would become blurred, and excessive permissiveness would take hold. His vote was for expulsion.
It was my turn. Frank’s arguments had impressed me. They were flawless. Moreover, although we had never had any conflicts, I did not particularly like Lucas. I considered him vain, always seeking the spotlight, going against the valuable teachings we received on how to live a fulfilling life. At that moment, I was sure that he would no longer bring anything good to the monastery. This was my personal judgment, which I did not express. When I spoke, I endorsed Frank’s words. I added that to compromise ethics was to blur the line between good and evil, to mix right with wrong, to confuse “yes” with “no,” thereby losing the ability to make the best use of this precious power. I also said that this was not just a moral misstep; Lucas’s actions had entered a far more serious realm of misconduct. In theory, it was a case of embezzlement, though I considered it unnecessary to take legal action. Everyone makes mistakes, but there are boundaries that must be defended to prevent backsliding; permissiveness leads to disorder and destruction. Finally, I aligned my vote with Frank’s.
With a simple nod, the Elder signalled for Hilton to present his reasoning. He began by speaking about the difficulty of finding the core of justice, not just in every situation but especially within ourselves. To analyse a situation only through its objective aspects was to strip life of its subjectivity. Every mistake needs correction; wrongdoing must be stopped. He had no doubt about that. However, removing all the attributes that make up an individual would be like imagining a river without its banks, drifting into a vast emptiness. We are the elaborations of the experiences we live. When we process them poorly, we make terrible choices. But to destroy this intrinsic laboratory—where each person, according to their perception and sensitivity, interprets the situations they encounter—would be to disregard the soul, to abandon healing, to deny growth through the crucible of error, the only available pedagogical method. It would mean giving up on what is most valuable: love, the ultimate synthesis of virtues and truth. Even if we inhabit steel skyscrapers, travel in jet planes, and use ultramodern computers, we would remain savages.
Hilton continued. He asked whether we would analyse only the isolated fact, without considering the man himself, his virtues and the good he had done for so many years. He questioned whether it would be truly just to turn our backs on the subtleties of truth, with all the multiple aspects that reveal it. He said he did not find it fair to separate the objective from the subjective, the act from the individual, the mistake from the virtues. He could not ignore the good that had been done for so long and become fixated on wrongdoing at its first appearance. Lucas was a person with numerous virtues, and those virtues should not be prevented from entering that tribunal. Light is not a concession; it is a conquest. He said that merit and dedication will always be valuable attributes. He pointed out that these virtues, merit and dedication, rest on two pillars: availability, which concerns time, and willingness, which reveals the heart. Often, we have time but lack the willingness; at other times, we lack time but are full of will. For some, everything is an excuse; for others, nothing stands in their way. He had no doubt that Lucas belonged to the latter group. He had seen him on multiple occasions making extreme efforts to complete tasks or help fellow monks. There was empathy and solidarity in that man’s heart, rare virtues to find. The way one interacts with others will always be a factor that either strengthens or weakens a community. Lucas was an admirable builder of good relationships, though many felt uncomfortable around him. They claimed he was attention-seeking or vain when, in truth, they were only masking their own inability to love more and love better. Moreover, Hilton believed that Lucas had thought more about his employees and their families than about himself. That was the kind of man Lucas was.
He added that Lucas’s desire to rebuild what he had destroyed also seemed sincere and could not be disregarded. Denying an opportunity to someone who demonstrates willingness and understanding to rise from their own destruction is to doubt the sacred that dwells within and transforms all of us. For the reasons presented, but also for his deserving recognition, he believed that Lucas had earned the right to a new chance. He voted for acquittal, with the stipulation that a reasonable deadline be set for Lucas to reimburse the Order.
It was Kamadewa’s turn. With his calm demeanour, the Indian monk spoke little but with extreme clarity. He began with an important caveat, which was also a teaching. He said that Frank and I had presented strong arguments. Without a doubt, one cannot reach the right destination by traveling the wrong path, and one cannot negotiate with evil, statements filled with valuable knowledge. However, even perfect rhetoric placed on the wrong shelf reverses the meaning of truth, disorients the reason, and drives misguided decisions. Truth requires virtue to exist. Words must not serve as a disservice to the light. Error carries within itself the seed of truth; if well processed, disastrous experiences initiate authentic evolutionary transformations. Lucas had shown a desire to be reborn. The forging of light is the awakening of a consciousness tired of living under its own shadows. He voted the same as Hilton.
The trial was tied. It was up to the Elder to decide: “I travel through the days as if every event were a school teaching me something I do not yet know and a workshop where I must use knowledge as a tool of light. If we do not serve to illuminate the world, time serves no purpose. In my eyes, Lucas faced a rigorous but necessary and productive lesson. He struggled to overcome a difficult adversity. This time, he did not make the best choice… however, at other times, he proved to be a companion like few others. Judging the whole work by a single detail condemns the beauty of the entire piece for the sake of one small damaged part. Whether for his countless good deeds or the qualities he had already shown, I cannot deny him the opportunity to rebuild what he destroyed. If his will is sincere, that is enough. Otherwise, I would be inconsistent with the truth as I understand it, and virtues would have little value. I vote for acquittal and set a two-year deadline for Lucas to reimburse the damage he caused.”
Displeased, I argued that simply returning the misappropriated amount contained no penalty for the committed mistake,it was merely a restitution of what had been wrongly taken. The Elder looked at me with compassion, noticing my struggle to grow, then turned with mercy to Lucas, whose expression revealed the pain of a soul led by its own mistakes to that situation, and said: “There has already been much suffering. Is more really needed?”. He thanked everyone for their participation, stood up, and left. The session was over. Although I could not fully grasp it at the time, I felt the bitter sensation of having let love slip through my fingers. Soon after, Kamadewa and Hilton also left. Only Frank and I remained, like two disoriented students trying to understand the lesson given.
I needed silence and stillness to process the events. I decided to go to my room to study. When our inner light goes out, we feel terrible; heavy emotions tend to take root in the heart, poisoning the mind with bitter and destructive thoughts. The soul becomes intoxicated, and the body is drained. I needed to reverse that. A good solution is to return to the essence, the temple of truth and virtues, the source of strength and balance. Learn, forgive oneself, and be reborn. However, despite being essential, this process is almost never immediate. For each experience to lead to the transformation of who I was into who I am, and later into who I will be, it requires many journeys of discovery, encounters, and conquests with myself. Instead of tending to this, that night I stayed up late perfecting the next day’s class, it would be the last of that study period. I wanted to close it with a memorable lesson. I reviewed texts and added unusual items. I woke up excited about the prospects, pretending not to see the mess within me.
Early in the morning, I was summoned to the Elder’s office. He informed me:
“The monastery road is in terrible condition. We have a meeting scheduled with the mayor about the issue. I will not be able to attend. The arthritis in my knees has worsened in recent days. As administrative secretary, you will replace me. Don’t worry about the Shiur, Kamadewa will teach the class in your place.”
I took a deep breath to control my irritation. That was not what I cared about. I loved that course. When I had joined the Order, it had been transformative in my life. All I wanted was to transmit the same sense of enchantment I had felt at the time. I didn’t want to miss the final class. I asked him to choose another monk to meet with the mayor. The Elder refused: “Everyone is busy with their tasks”. I said I didn’t care about the road the way I cared about the course. Leaving politeness aside, I reminded him how he had already disrespected me the day before by appointing someone else to replace me without consulting me. I said I had always honoured every commitment I had made. There was no reason to deprive me of the well-deserved and healthy pleasure of closing that study cycle in the best possible way. It wasn’t fair. In a rebellious gesture, I said I would give the class. If they wanted to, they could drag me out or expel me from the Order. I no longer cared.
Disobedient, I headed to the classroom. I nearly knocked Kamadewa down as I entered. Without any resistance, the Indian monk withdrew and left me with the group. The energy we emit comes from the thoughts and emotions that dominate us at each moment. Heaven and hell dwell within us; in this way, we choose where we will spend the day. Imbalance, whether from irritation or sadness, leads to fragility. The class was a disaster. I confused some concepts and forgot others. I felt terrible.
The next day, the eve of the assembly, before everyone woke up, I went for a walk in the forest to think. The events of the last few days needed to find a place to reside peacefully within me. That is how we piece together the puzzle of our lives. I meditated to hear my soul; I prayed to hear the mentors and guardians from the invisible plane who assist me. Nothing seemed to fit; I struggled to decode and place each thought and feeling. Only in the late afternoon, a little calmer, did I understand that only humility, by admitting I was not yet who I believed myself to be, simplicity, to remove the masks of my delusions of greatness and power, and compassion for my own difficulties could return the lost peace to me.
The initial reaction, most of the time, is to shift responsibility, one of the most serious obstacles to progress on our journey. It is a fundamental mistake we continuously stumble over. In truth, no matter what others do, no one is to blame for how I feel, whether it be anguish, distress, anger, sadness, depression, or resentment. What others do belongs to them; the emotions, feelings, ideas, and thoughts their actions generate in me are my sole responsibility. It is up to me to write and rewrite, every day, the person I want to be. Until I do this, the person I am will remain a wild territory, vulnerable to barbaric invasions. Any dense emotion, when it dominates me, dictates my choices and behaviour. I lose the best part of myself. This indicates that the captain of my ship is far from knowing how to navigate stormy seas and handle chaotic winds. Other people’s actions do not belong to me; therefore, holding on to their harmful remnants within myself reveals that I still live at the mercy of tastes and whims that are not my own. It means that I do not belong to myself, I am a slave to what others think or do to me. It shows how far I am from becoming the master of my own being. I conquer myself when I become capable of determining the feelings that will reside in my heart and the thoughts that will guide my actions, without detours, excuses, or deceptions. This is how I illuminate myself; there is no other way.
I recalled a conversation I had with Li Tzu, the Taoist master, about how to protect myself from my own heavy emotions and destructive thoughts when faced with an unpleasant situation, so as not to let my light fade. He taught me: “In such moments, in your mind, say to the one who offended you: ‘The mess in your house will not disorder mine.”
I returned to the Monastery and went to the Elder’s office. Though on a different scale of severity, I too had broken the Order’s rules, which require order, discipline, and respect, without which good relations in any community are exhausted, leading to chaos, and ultimately opening space for disharmony, at which point the shadows seize the opportunity to establish their empire. The good monk did not smile upon seeing me, but neither did he appear upset. His expression was serene, as if he was ready to help. I told him he should treat me with the same severity I had used in Lucas’s trial. I admitted that my behaviour had been unacceptable. The Elder furrowed his brow and said, “That will not be necessary. You have understood that severity is not synonymous with justice. This is an important step. Although you have not yet fully absorbed the lesson offered in recent days, which takes time, you have already begun the process by not denying your mistake but instead accepting it as a teacher. Thus, from your shadows, you will be able to forge your own light.”
“It will always be up to you to process each experience lived in the laboratory of the soul. This refinement will grant you the power of life, the ability to keep your light shining, regardless of the world’s circumstances. You will flow with ease and grace, balance and strength, through all situations. Suffering dissolves when we understand that the exit door of any labyrinth opens inward, where the soul resides, never outward. Learn to use this great power.”
I asked him to help me extract the right lesson from recent events. Kindly, the Elder reminded me of a recent conversation: “If you want to get to know someone, either inflate or squeeze them.” I asked him to explain further. The good monk was generous: “To ‘inflate’ means to elevate, empower, and provide a space where someone feels so great that they might punish or harm another out of mere personal grievance, a misuse of power, or an unhealthy application of morality and knowledge tainted by arrogance. Give them a chance to let pride, vanity, and selfishness surface. Then, observe whether they will remain honestly within the bounds of humility, simplicity, compassion, wisdom, and purity. This will reveal who truly governs them, whether they walk firmly in the axis of their own light or if they are still vulnerable to their personal shadows.” He paused briefly before continuing: “To ‘squeeze’ is to seek the same understanding through a different equation, deny their requests, contradict them, create obstacles, revoke permission, or take something away from them. Their reaction will show you the spiritual maturity they have attained, and at what curve of the Path they currently stand.”
That lesson fit my situation perfectly. It was the theory behind an experience I had just lived. I lowered my gaze. The Elder added, “Observe the flow of life. At times we are inflated, at others, squeezed. This natural rhythm, like the ebb and flow of the tides, helps us understand those who share our journey. Not to judge, but to comprehend the value of compassion. We are all still students in this wonderful planetary school, some more advanced than us, others less. However, the most important thing is to use this same flow to understand who we are. Our reactions speak volumes about us. They are like an autopsy of the soul, revealing gardens and deserts, scars and wounds, the hidden truths we refuse to acknowledge. The way I behave when life grants me the power to influence others’ circumstances, and conversely, how I react when life takes something away from me that I am unwilling to lose, indicates both what I carry and what is still missing in my spiritual baggage.” He curved his lips into a slight smile and said, “Revere each of these hidden teachers when you meet them on your Path. There are no others.”
At the assembly, I nominated Hilton to succeed me in the monastery’s administration. It was an easy decision; choices are only difficult when they are not yet fully matured in the soul. Observing the events had granted me clarity; for the same reasons, I believe that Frank recognized why he had not been chosen. If he did not yet understand, he would in time. I accepted with serenity the appointment of another monk as the educational coordinator for the next study period. Kamadewa was fair and wise. I was not yet ready for the role, and I knew it. Of course, the Elder was once again unanimously acclaimed as the monastery’s general director. In the end, I watched him walk away, his steps slow but steady, the way we must follow the Path.
Translated by Cazmilian Zórdic.
