TO BE ALIVE

By

Michael Edwin Q.

There once was a Buddhist monk who traveled alone all over Burma. He spent most of his days in the jungle, praying, meditating, and fasting. Whenever he found himself becoming too lean, he headed to the nearest village with his beggar bowl and the villagers offered him morsels of food.

One day, his wandering brought him to a large fishing village on the Ayeyarwady River. The villagers had erected a grand holy temple, which they were all proud of. The monk entered the temple, carrying his beggar bowl.

There, in the center of the temple, were the remains of a large tortoise. It had died many years ago, and all that remained were its skeleton and its enormous green shell.

The villagers had mounted him atop an altar of pure gold. They placed garlands of jungle flowers around his neck. They burned incense, chanted, prayed to and worshiped him.

As the monk passed by the altar, the spirit of the tortoise cried out to him.

“Oh, humble monk, please, help me!”

“Help you?” the monk questioned, “Why would you need help from me or anyone, for that matter? Look at all you have, you rest on an altar of gold, and you have offerings at your feet and garlands around your neck. You have the adoration and worship of the entire village! What more could you want?”

“Alas,” said the tortoise, “Is it not better to be unknown, unloved, unwanted, and sitting atop a dung heap…and to be alive?”

END

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