The Blessing

There is a story of a Zen monk I'll call Han-Shen. He lived way up in the hills in a cave, and he spent his days and nights meditating, and watching the shadows climb up one cliff wall, and down another.

Han-Shen was amused by the sun turning, turning in the heavens above and slowly sinking into the hills and then rising again in the sky, no different for the journey.

A delegation from the palace of the Patriarch approached the cave of Han-Shen one spring morning, bidding the monk behold the newly-born son and heir. The child was duly blessed by Han-Shen.

And so the shadows continued to climb and fall, and the sun to rise and slip and slide, and Han-Shen to laugh at the whole immense comedy.

In time there again appeared a delegation from the palace, and they informed the monk that the old Patriarch had passed on, and his son had taken on his duties as ruler, and had sent his servants to secure
the blessing of the noble monk once more, that he might govern the province with wisdom and grace.

Han-Shen refused.

The ambassadors of the new Patriarch retreated back down the hill in some confusion and dismay. But Han-Shen only laughed at this latest joke.

For how could a province be ruled by a mere infant?

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