After reading 101 Zen stories 101

After reading Zen Stories 101, I realized that in ancient times, everything you practiced was considered a form of meditation. Meditation simply means focusing on your aim while letting all other thoughts come and go without attachment.

In the book The Practicing Mind, the author—who is a musician—explains that a musician repeats the same chord 55 times a day. If he skips this disciplined practice, he cannot perform well on stage. During this repetition, the mind creates noise: “There are more important things to do,” “Why am I doing this again?” But the musician stays focused on practice despite the distractions.

This is meditation too—whether you sit and focus on your breath, watching thoughts come and go, or whether you repeat a skill until your mind stops resisting. Meditation teaches you to focus so deeply that even the fear of death dissolves.

One Zen story tells of an ancient general who practiced archery meditation for more than 10 years. In another story, a young man excelled at wrestling in private practice but failed in public due to fear and shyness. When he sought help from a Zen master, he was told to meditate and create inner “waves” in his mind. Through practice, he generated such powerful mental waves that his fears were washed away. Eventually, he conquered his mind and performed confidently.

So meditation is not only sitting quietly; it is anything you practice with full presence. By repeating the same action again and again, you conquer boredom and the mind’s excuses. Even when the mind says, “You already know this; you are already a master,” true meditation is returning to practice with humility and focus.

The Story of the Depressed Monk

Two young monks arrived at a Buddhist monastery. Both wanted to learn martial arts and study the deeper truths of Buddhism.

One was cheerful and full of energy. The other was quiet, burdened, and often sad.

The Master observed them for a while. Then he said,
“You,” pointing to the cheerful one, “will join the martial arts training.”
“And you,” turning to the sad one, “will clean the monastery each day. When your task is complete, you may begin your training.”

The sad monk was surprised. He had hoped to practice martial arts right away. But the Master’s word was final. So he bowed and accepted his duty.

Every morning, he swept the courtyard, cleared away dry leaves, and dusted every corner. Yet, by the next morning, the courtyard was covered again — leaves fallen, dust blown by the wind.

After a month of this, he went to the Master and said,
“Master, no matter how much I clean, by morning the dust returns. I feel the same about my mind. Thoughts of regret, betrayal, and worry come back again and again. I try to forget, but they return.”

The Master smiled.
“That is the lesson,” he said. “The courtyard gathers dust every day, and you clean it again. The mind does the same — it gathers thoughts, emotions, and pain. You cannot stop the dust from coming, but you can keep cleaning. That is the practice.”

The monk bowed deeply. He finally understood.

From that day, he continued his cleaning with peace in his heart. Weeks later, the Master told him,
“Now you are ready for martial arts training — for you have learned the first lesson: to clean the mind.”

Inspired with Zen story