In a deep mountain foothills where clouds frolicked beneath his feet and the clear cry of a crane seemed almost audible,
there stood a Zen master who sat on a rock, motionless whether it rained or snowed.
People praised him as a 'living Buddha,' and an unapproachable aura emanated from his back.
One day, a young man climbing the mountain, unable to find his bearings, witnessed this scene.
The Zen master had sat there in an unwavering posture for a full four hours. The young man slapped his knee and thought,
'Indeed, one must reach that state to be liberated from the suffering of the world!'
The young man cautiously approached and asked. "Monk, why do you sit for four hours every day in this harsh weather? What profound truths of the universe do you realize during that time? Is there perhaps a secret method that even a mere mortal like me can follow?" The Zen master slowly opened his eyes and smiled gently. That smile was benevolent, as if it could embrace the whole world. "Haha, it wouldn't go so far as to call it a secret method... but if I had to say, I spend the first two hours washing away the worldly dust accumulated in my heart—envy, jealousy, and anger. It is because only when I empty my mind can I truly see myself." The young man asked again in admiration. "You are truly amazing! Then, in what state of selflessness do you remain for the remaining two hours after completely emptying your mind? Do you perhaps converse with an immortal?" At this, the Zen master answered, twisting his leg with a groan of pain.
"No... actually, after the first two hours, I got such a severe cramp in my leg that
I absolutely couldn't stand up. I have to rest until the sensation returns, so I'm just sitting here.
Otherwise I would have collapsed and rolled down the mountain, so what could I do?"
We often look at successful people or others who seem perfect and assume that they possess a 'special secret' or 'steel-like will' different from ours.
However, as the Zen master confessed, half of what seems like noble patience might actually be 'enduring unavoidable situations' and 'forced rest for recovery.'
Our lives are no different.
Before opening our eyes in the morning to start work or focus on something, we need time to 'dust off our minds.'
It is a process of gathering our scattered thoughts—dispersed by yesterday's regrets, today's worries, and KakaoTalk notifications—into one.
Without this 'emptying,' we are no different from machines merely living driven by inertia.
But true humanity lies in the 'remaining two hours' confessed by the Zen master.
Sometimes, just as our legs cramp while running toward a goal, our minds also get cramps.
I am talking about those moments when burnout sets in, passion fades, and you feel like you absolutely cannot take even a single step.
People call that time a 'stagnation' or 'failure,' but the Zen master defined it as 'a time to rest slowly.'
Instead of forcing yourself to stand up and falling back down, silently holding your ground until your senses return—that is, in fact, a sophisticated strategy for truly protecting yourself.
Korean society uniquely often forces us to run while 'suffering from cramps.'
They tell us to overcome numb legs with sheer willpower and even demonize resting.
However, the Zen master's witty twist tells us:
"Not being able to stand up is not shameful; it simply means your legs need time to circulate."
