I need to get another book.
Khaled Hosseini: Kite Runner
When I was thinking about why I wanted to write about this book, a classic Zen tale I read recently came to mind.
The tale will show you what my intention was, and I will tell you.
If I had to answer why I brought this book here at the beginning of my writing, I would say:
By all means, read it, and you may well say what I said afterwards.
I hope you find beauty in this story!
The Basket and the River
An old master lived in a monastery with his young disciple. Every day the disciple read the holy scriptures and wise books conscientiously, but one morning he turned to his master in despair:
– Master, no matter how much I read these books, as soon as I close them, I forget almost everything about them. What is the point of reading if nothing remains in my mind?
The master did not answer immediately. He handed the boy an old, dirty charcoal basket (or in some versions, a sieve) and said:
– Go down to the river, draw water with it, and bring it to me!
The disciple was surprised, but he obeyed. He drew some water, but by the time he returned to the master, the basket was empty.
– Go back and try faster! – the master urged.
The boy tried again, ran as hard as he could, but each time the water ran out of the holes. Finally, exhausted, he stopped in front of the master:
– Master, this is impossible! You can’t carry water with a basket. There’s nothing left in it.
The old sage then pointed to the basket:
– Look closely at the basket! What was it like when you set off, and what is it like now?
The boy looked at it and was amazed. The basket, which had been dirty, sooty, and dusty before, was now clean and shining.
– See? – said the master. – When you read, your mind may be like this basket: it can’t hold all the words and sentences. But each time the wisdom of the book “flows” through you, it purifies your soul and mind. It’s not what remains in the basket that matters, but what the basket becomes when it touches the water.
In my article “Which book tells who I am?” I was the student.
Now, as a master, I don’t think that this book has definitely made my basket cleaner.
Four Thoughts
I take four thoughts from the book.
I would like to share these with you. I would like to know what you take away from it after reading it.
Theft
“Okay,” Baba said, but I could see doubt in his eyes. “Listen, whatever the mullah teaches, there is only one sin, one and only one. And that is theft. Any other sin is just a form of theft. Do you understand that?”
“No, Baba jan,” I said, desperately wishing I understood. I didn’t want to disappoint him again.
…
“When you kill someone, you steal a life,” Baba explained. “You steal their wife’s right to be a husband, you steal their children’s father. When you lie, you steal someone’s right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal their right to honesty. Do you understand that?”
Any other crime is just a variation of theft…
I thought seriously while reading this book because I was shocked by this sentence.
As I read, I didn’t understand what the character was trying to say, but the explanation made everything clear.
There are sentences that don’t explain, they just make something right in us.
This is one of them.
I don’t think that all crime is theft.
But I like this idea because it simplifies what would otherwise be restlessly circulating in my head.
If I look at my world from this perspective, it seems like behind every action there might be something lost. A right. An opportunity. A relationship. A truth.
And that’s enough to make me think about it differently. If I can name what was lost, I look at it differently.
For something.
Everything has a price.
The method works for me.
Not because it’s the truth. But because it is a usable truth.
Zendegi migzara
Zendegi migzara, as Afghans like to say: life goes on, not caring about the beginning, the end, kamyab, nakam, crisis, spiritual purification, it just walks forward like a dusty caravan.
Life goes on.
It doesn’t care if I was kamyab (successful) or nakam (unsuccessful). It doesn’t count my successes, and it doesn’t stop at my failures.
In some ways, this indifference is liberating.
It means that you don’t have to conform to life. You don’t have to prove yourself.
Just go with it. Like that dusty caravan that doesn’t hurry, doesn’t delay, just moves on.
And as I move along in the caravan, maybe I’ll realize that what matters is not what happened to me.
But whether I move on or not.
It feels good to me that I’m already moving with this caravan and my journey continues.
Sour apple
– It’s okay. I can wait. It’s like a sour apple.
– A sour apple?
– Once, when I was very little, I climbed a tree and ate a green, sour apple from it. My belly grew big, hard like a drum, and it hurt a lot. Mom said that if I had waited until the apples were ripe, I wouldn’t have gotten sick. Since then, whenever I really want something, I think back to what Mom said about apples.
– A sour apple. Masallah, you are the smartest little boy I have ever met, Sohrab jan!
I used to say that in some situations it is worth waiting.
Now I simply say that there is no point in waiting. Everything comes in its own time, whether I wait for it or not.
All fruit ripens when it is its time. I can eat it earlier, but then it will be unripe, or I can leave it a little longer, and then it will rot.
If the fruit ripens just when I am hungry, and I have the inclination to eat it then, then it can become my portion. Of course, the opposite is also true, but then the result will be a stomachache.
Silence
It would be a mistake to say that Sohrab was quiet. Being quiet means peace. Tranquility. Quietness is the lowering of the volume of life.
I have nothing to add.
Just keep quiet.
Buy me a coffee?
If you enjoyed this story, you can buy me a coffee. You don’t have to – but it means a lot and I always turn it into a new adventure.
Buy a coffee for Steve
Linktree
Short introduction