One day it struck the Master that it was probably not correct meditating in the middle of his little abode and that he should, instead, be doing his thing out in the garden at the end of the yard. Yes, he thought, I will be in touch with natural sights and sounds that are more conducive to enlightenment than the artificial silence of my sanctum where the outside world doesn’t get a chance to leak in.
So, the next day he rolled up his mat and strode to the end of the garden and rolled the mat out and set upon in a yogic position in order to get down to some serious meditation on the nature of reality and the meaning of life. He was happy he could hear the sounds of the outside environment and relate to it better than the stifling quiet of his normal room. In particular, he liked the sound of the breeze blowing through and rustling the leaves.
But what he liked more was the sound some little bird seemed to be making even closer to him than the wind. Ah, birdsong, he thought, what could be more refreshing? I must talk to my disciples in future and tell them to follow this example. Pretty soon, however, it started becoming clear to him — for Masters are also sometimes intelligent — that the bird was actually resenting his presence there because her nest was right in the next hedge.
After a few moments of contemplation, it dawned on him that he was neither wanted in that neighbourhood, nor was the pretty bird interested in his process of enlightenment. He rolled the mat back up and brought it in, and 15 years later, suddenly got enlightened one day when he thought about that experience.
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