Young Monk was now busy arranging the teapot, teacups, and dried fruit. When finished, he knelt at the altar table, muttered a short prayer, then offered his tea and fruit to the Buddha with utmost piety and respect.
I felt moved by this act of sincerity and devotion.
Then he poured another cup of tea and went to the old monk. To my surprise, he knelt down and offered him tea with the same piety and respect he’d paid to the Buddha.
After these offerings, the young monk, now looking relaxed, poured us steaming tea. Then he introduced the old monk to us as Master Detached Dust and himself as Eternal Brightness. Old Monk responded with an innocent smile.
Eternal Brightness said, “In comparison to our tortoise, my Master Detached Dust is quite a young man at only one hundred and five.”
I translated this to Michael. He exclaimed disbelief, but then bowed respectfully to Detached Dust. And, I believed, to the mystery of his longevity.
Suddenly the master spoke. “Do you two watch TV?”
This question from a one-hundred-and-five-year-old Zen monk recluse really took me by surprise-he should have long transcended the seven emotions and the five desires.
I translated to Michael. He said, “I feel sorry for him; he must be extremely lonely here.”
Then I turned back to Detached Dust. “We have a TV, but we don’t watch much.”
The master surprised me again by saying, “I’ve heard about it, but I’ve never seen it.”
“Master, you mean never in your whole life, not even once?”
“No.”
Now this living fossil really intrigued me. “Aren’t you curious to watch TV?”
Instead of directly answering my question, he smiled contentedly. “I have my garden, my sutras, the sky and the clouds.”
I translated this to Michael and he said, “Ask him whether he’s bored sometimes.”
I turned and asked the master.
His reply was, “Night after night the moon shines on the pond.”
Eternal Brightness eagerly chimed in. “Since his youth, Master’s eyesight has been weak,” as if an apology were needed for Master’s not watching TV, and not connecting to the modern world.
“Then how can he read his sutras?” I asked.
“He’d already memorized most of them before he reached twenty.” He paused, then added, “But Master possesses the Buddha eye.”
I translated this to Michael and he nodded, looking deep in thought.
A brief silence. Then the young monk stood up, went to the cauldron, and held out a bamboo tray on top of which lay fat, snowy-white buns. The bun, hot and steaming in my hands, seemed alive and palpitating.
Michael, probably very hungry by now after our long climb under the sun, was devouring the bun and gulping down the tea with relish.
“Mmm.” He raised his thumb to the monks.
Eternal Brightness smiled back politely, while Master Detached Dust cupped his mouth with his gnarled hand and giggled.
Then, seeing that I was not eating, Detached Dust cast me a meaningful glance. “Miss, eat! Eat while it’s still hot.” Then he added, “Don’t wait till it gets cool.”
Was it a metaphor for my being indecisive about marrying Michael?
I smiled at him, then split open the bun. Paste of red beans spilled to peek at the world outside and immediately I stuck out my tongue to take them into this Mortal’s Field of Red Hot Passion.
When we finished our snack, Master Detached Dust said, “Honorable guests, I now have to work.”
Work? At one hundred and five?
Seeing that I was staring doubtfully at his master, the young monk explained, “Master is going to tend to his garden.” After that, he helped Detached Dust outside.
I told Michael about my conversation with the monks while we, amazed, watched Detached Dust at work. Though slow in his movements, he transmitted his special energy, his whole being spilling happiness. He moved deliberately but with a carefree air, watering, pulling out dead roots, cutting off yellowed leaves. He seemed not to feel the hot sun over his head or the baking earth under his straw-sandaled feet. He chanted in a faint voice as he went about his work.
Michael exclaimed, “Amazing! I hope I will live to his age and stay that active.”
When Eternal Brightness came back to the room, I asked, “Shifu, don’t you think that Master Detached Dust should…retire?”
“I’ve begged Master many times not to work, but his reply is always to recite the Zen rule: a day without work is a day without food. So”-the young monk shrugged and smiled wryly-“there’s nothing I can do. He always tells me that by cultivating the garden, he’s cultivating the Way. So how can he stop?” A pause, then, “Master says that he’s the guest of wind and dust. And his mind the ashes of dead fire.”
We stood together watching Detached Dust.
Then Eternal Brightness spoke. “I must work also. Please stay in our temple as long as you like.”
Suddenly I remembered the stone inscription in the main hall. “Shifu, that inscription about the young man who fell in love with a village girl, then took refuge after she’d married someone else…”
The monk had already guessed my question. “That young man is my master, Detached Dust.”
I was shocked to hear this. “Oh,” I blurted out, “what a sad story.”
The young monk cast me a curious glance, then corrected me. “No. Master determined to cut off all attachment after he realized his folly of falling into the entanglement of human desire.” He pointed to the calligraphy and recited, “‘So I have looped around. From the preciousness of sensation to the harmfulness of being attached to it.’”
He turned to look out the window. “So look how happy Master is now.” He smiled. “Moreover, that’s why he lived to this ripe age.”
I followed Eternal Brightness’s affectionate gaze and saw Detached Dust now talking cheerily to an orchid.
“It’s Master’s habit to recite his mantra of Amita Buddha to the plants and rocks here. He believes they also have Buddha nature.”
I turned back to the young monk. “So, Shifu, is this also the same reason you’re…here?”
His face beamed. “Oh, yes. I am extremely fortunate, for Master was very strict in choosing his disciple.”
Just then the old monk came in, studied each of us, and split a big, panting smile. “Tomorrow is another day; I’ll take a nap today.”
Eternal Brightness hurried to help him go back to his room.
After I’d translated everything to Michael, he said, “No matter how hard monks and nuns try to cut off from worldly desire, love still sneaks its way back in.”
“What do you mean?”
Michael answered my question with another one. “The monk’s love story is inscribed here in the temple, right?”
Not wishing to further disturb the two monks, we took our leave. The young monk walked us all the way to the level land and the steps.
Michael and I bowed deeply with our hands together. I said, “Thank you, Shifu. We really appreciate your and Master Detached Dust’s hospitality.”
Under the warm sun, his tanned, healthy face seemed to shine with wisdom and detachment. “You’re welcome. Please come back and visit us again.”
“We certainly will.”
Michael asked me to tell him that he really enjoyed his bun and that he wished the Master good health and longevity.
I told the young monk and he said, “Thank you, but the master’s health and longevity depend on karma, not men’s wishes.” A pause. Then he added, “By the way, it’s master who cooked those buns, not me.”
We silently picked our way down the long flight of steps. I felt depressed to leave this separate world of the small temple and plunge back into the dusty world.
Michael took my hand. “Meng Ning, let’s hurry to the taxi. It’s going to rain.”
At the bottom of the steps, our taxi driver was fast asleep, curled up in the backseat. As we began to quicken our steps, the rain was already pelting mercilessly. We pounded on the door of the taxi, awakening the surprised driver, who quickly got out and let us, now dripping, into the back. Through the smudged window I watched the raindrops plunge, hiss, and bounce on the ground. I felt a rush of nostalgia. Their natural energy made me think of the two mountain monks. Their temple, though only up the nearby flight of steps, already seemed so distant. Would we have the chance to return to that simple beauty in this lifetime?