Freedom lies not in purity, but in the complete acceptance of any wind, any twig, any chaos – without inner resistance or personal preference.
Part One
I first heard this parable some six or seven years ago. Since then, it has resurfaced from time to time in conversations – I enjoy retelling it to friends and loved ones. And when, on Christmas Eve, it came back to me once again, I decided to write it down.
In one of the mountain valleys of China lived an old man. It was said that his mind was as calm as the surface of a mountain lake: no storm could disturb the reflection of the sky in its depths. He was not a teacher, had no disciples, and did not seek fame – he simply lived, as those do who have nowhere to hurry.
Later, I learned that this story is often attributed to Bodhidharma (Damo), the first Patriarch of the Chan School, who brought the teaching of direct insight into the essence of being from India to China in the 6th century. This is not a canonical biography, but a folk parable, shaped over time – a tale of the final and most difficult trial on his path.
The First Trial — Thieves
One night, thieves broke into his dwelling. The old man, seated in meditation, calmly observed as they carried off his meagre possessions.
“Take everything,” he said in an even, quiet voice. “Just don’t make too much noise.”
Struck by his detachment, the thieves left in confusion.
The Second Trial — Betrayal
Once, returning home, the old man found his neighbour – a young man – with his wife. He merely gave a slight nod, his expression unchanged.
“Forgive me for disturbing your peace,” he said, and left, as if he had entered the wrong door.
The Third Trial — Exile
His sons, for whom honour and status meant everything, declared:
“You are weak. You disgrace our family. Leave.”
“As you wish, my children,” the old man replied calmly. He bowed, took his staff and his alms bowl, and set off into the mountains, toward a monastery.
The Monastery
The old man arrived at the monastery. He was received, given shelter, and assigned the task of sweeping the courtyard.
He spent his days sweeping the yard, clearing leaves and dust, his movements measured and familiar. The sweeping became a ritual – a meditation in action. He was not sweeping stones, but his own mind, and with each stroke it grew emptier and brighter within. In his free time, he would retreat deeper into the courtyard, sit beneath a tree, and meditate, observing his breath and the movements of the mind.
And in this calm, in a silence that seemed it could last forever, the old man began to notice faint rustlings and subtle movements around him. Shadows gathered where no thought of anxiety had ever been. Hints of images appeared, barely discernible in the flickering light – the first harbingers of the Maras. In Buddhism, as in European and Slavic mythologies, this is the name given to demons that feed on human attachments.
The Attack of the Maras
The Maras began to manifest themselves more clearly, taking on terrifying forms and whispering of the past, trying to distract the old man from his work and meditation. The old man merely sighed softly, habitually, with each sweep of the broom.
Then they changed their guise, appearing in radiant splendour and proclaiming him the greatest saint of all time, seeking to awaken pride and the thirst for recognition, the old man only smiled inwardly and continued sweeping.
One day, after finishing his work, he sat beneath an old pine tree. The courtyard was clean. A light breeze stirred a branch, and a tiny dry twig fell onto the stone at his feet. A shadow crossed the old man’s face: a small irritation, a barely noticeable preference for order and cleanliness.
The Maras howled in triumph: they had found no passion and no fear, but the most subtle preference – his hidden attachment. In that very moment, they unleashed a furious storm upon the courtyard, lifting pine needles, dust, and debris into a raging vortex, defiling his flawless work in a matter of seconds.
The old man stepped forward, his hands rising in mute despair.
Inner harmony cracked – no larger than a tiny fallen twig. He identified with what was happening.
He had lost.
Part Two — Meaning
This story is not about the defeat of Bodhidharma (for according to tradition, the Patriarch did indeed attain his goal). It reveals the final traps on the path to freedom. It is precisely this defeat that exposes the most delicate chains binding our ‘self’, and that is why it matters. Let us examine this more closely.
1. Sons and Wife — Attachment to the World of Forms
The sons personify the social ego: reputation, status, family, honour, public opinion. The old man releases this easily – he sees these as mere labels, not his essence. His exile is an act of complete renunciation of social contracts.
The wife and the neighbour symbolize sensual attachment, possession, and jealousy. The old man does not identify himself with the body or with relationships in their ordinary, worldly sense.
2. Demons (Maras) — The Personification of the Ego-Mind
These are not external beings, but forces of one’s own ignorance:
Fear, aversion, anger (lower demons) – the first obstacles a seeker overcomes.
Pride, craving for recognition, spiritual arrogance – these are more subtle enemies. The old man passes this test as well, showing that even the idea of one’s own holiness is an illusion.
The final and most elusive demon are the habits of the mind: a mechanical, almost unconscious preference.
3. “The Little Twig” — The Final Anchor of the Self
The final attachment is tiny, barely perceptible – a minute trap of consciousness. Even after abandoning family, wealth, fear, and pride, the mind contracts into a microscopic point of identification. It may take the form of:
- Attachment to cleanliness and order.
• Secret pleasure in one’s own non-attachment.
• A faint irritation at a sound, a tone, the weather.
• An unnoticed preference for comfort – silence, taste, ritual.
This ‘twig’ is dangerous because it appears innocent, even virtuous. Within it hides the final spark of dualism: “I exist here, and this – this twig, this disorder – should not exist in my world”.
4. Hurricane — Life as It Is
Life is unpredictable and uncontrollable. It constantly disrupts our inner and outer worlds. The final test is not to preserve calm under ideal conditions, but to remain serene when reality itself interferes with order – and thus, to be truly free.
Conclusion
The story ends not in victory, but in defeat. Yet this defeat is the greatest teacher. It calls out:
“Remain vigilant to the very end. Do not look at the storms – listen to the barely audible whisper within your own soul. Freedom lies not in purity, but in the complete acceptance of any wind, any twig, any chaos – without inner resistance or personal preference.”
And where is your little twig hidden?
