Sometimes…

Seated beside the sick grey man upon his deathbed, the monk leant near to his ear and whispered two words of instruction: ‘Let go,’ nothing more, nothing less.

The delirious man with his body swathed in cellophane of sweat regarded the holy man with a nod as his face turned purple with what appeared to be the first signs of a seizure. Though to the serene monk, this reaction was nothing new. Nor was the sound of violent bowel movement, which followed before the foul stench, which turned even the strongest stomachs of the family and villagers gathered around their fevered king.

‘Is that better?’ he asked of the man a few moments later when his color had settled and his cheeks began to glow again. His brow dried of sweat, almost before he began his answer. However, it was not in the expected affirmative, and the monk on hearing this negative reply began to frown and shake his head.

‘You’ve ruined everything…’ the man grumbled, his dull eyes growing illumined and youthful once more as he continued: ‘I was glad to be sick of this lust for life which you all treasure so dearly. As regretfully, I now do again,’ he pointed accusingly at the monk, ‘No thanks to your advice.’

‘But, I do not understand,’ the monk despaired raising his hands, as all around them hands fanned at the foul air whilst others held their breath or choked, until a window was opened.

‘I liked being full of shit…’ he hissed, ‘I liked holding on, it pleasured me greatly that I was dying by my own will.’

‘But holding on was the cause of your illness,’ the monk exclaimed, as a student conditioned to loving and professing the worth of life, learnt from his elders teachings right up to the very Buddha himself.

‘Fool,’ the patient tossed back his head with laughter as he sat up and crossed his legs to belch up bad wind, ‘Life is the sickness, and this is all your fault for not leaving me be. Now, as king, I must return to tormenting myself and the others around me.’

‘Perhaps he’s right,’ croaked a distant male relative of around his own age, his back bent over a stick, ‘Perhaps sometimes it is better to hold on to your belief if it feels right for you.’ he professed.

Neither the others nor the monk said anything in reply to his remark, as they turned and filed quickly from the room in solemn silence. And there, their unusual lesson, concerning the return of a very bad smell, ended.