Retirement!

11 Oct 08

Life, filled to the brim!

At a Pistol Course in CA last weekend, a student struggled mightily in an effort to pass our Practical Test. He continuously repeated his mistakes, to the point of exasperation! He finally muddled through at the lowest level, but he was clearly disappointed and frustrated with his performance.

He made this comment: "I've been retired for thirteen years, all that time not doing much that could be called 'productive.' I used to be sharp and incisive, always learning. It was required for my job. I didn't realize that my brain had atrophied so ruinously since I stopped working and stopped being actively involved in my profession. My mind has since waxed dull and slothful. I plan on being alive for a long time yet, and I obviously needto sharpen back up!"

He then thanked us profusely for the Course, and for the unscheduled epiphany!

Comment: We've seen this revelation before. "Retirement," as commonly practiced in this Country, is a death-trap! An inactive, unchallenged brain that no longer has an important, meaningful mission, withers and loses freshness every day. It happens so slowly, many never notice, until they face psycho-motor and intellectual challenges such as we include with our Courses.

One reason traditional Western religion is suddenly unpopular, indeed mocked and denigrated, is that few want to believe there is a God, particularly a God to whom we are all accountable; a God who holds us all individually responsible for everything we've done, and everything we'veleft undone. It is indeed unpleasant to contemplate all the avarice, duplicity, slothfulness, depravity, cowardice, and stupidity that are accumulating on our individual ledgers, only to be held up in our faces on a Day of Judgement.

We would rather not think about it. We would rather just "retire!"

Late in the fourteenth century there were two Hwa Rang monks traveling through mountainous regions of Chasong (in present-day North Korea). One was a humble and reverent Hwa Rang Master; the other was his youthful and cavalier, but vain and shallow, apprentice.

It was early-winter and already bitterly cold. Snow was deep, and the frigid, howling wind was relentless. After a late start, the two were traveling a high, narrow mountain trail in an effort to reach a distant monastery before nightfall. It was late in the afternoon; the sun was close to the horizon, and they still had far to go. They both understood that, if they did not reach the monastery before the onset of darkness, they would likely becomelost and inevitably freeze to death. Worry showed on their faces, and there was an urgency in their steps.

As they rounded a narrow bend in the trail, the elder of the two spotted a solitary figure far below clinging tenaciously to a meager ledge. The monks determined that it was a fellow traveler who had accidentally fallen from the trail and now clung precariously to a small rock outcropping. If he lost his grip, he would fall thousands of feet to the massive glacier far below, but he would surely freeze to death if he remained where he was. They called to him and got his attention.

As he was pummeled by the frigid, snow-laden wind, the hapless traveler told the monks of his broken leg and pleaded with them to rescue him from his unfortunate circumstance, but his voice was weak and could scarcely be heard above the howl of the wind.

The younger of the two monks became impatient and said, "Enough of this! Let us be on our way now; no one will think the less of us for it. This is not our problem. This man's situation is indeed pitiable, but we had nothing to do with it. It's not our fault; it's not our concern. It was God who put that man where he is, and God must have had a good reason for doing so. Let providence work its natural course. Besides, we must think of ourselves. Come quickly! We must be sensible; it is getting later by the minute."

But, the elder monk objected: "Not so!" he said. "You are in error, because you do not understand your own calling and are oblivious to the wisdom of the ancients. Have you been deaf during your entire apprenticeship? Do you not realize that the very God, whose name you bandy about so irreverently,is the one who sent us here to help this man? Are we now to pretend that we do not see what is in front of us? God forbid! Here is a fellow man in desperate need, and we are the only ones who can help. You should be ecstatic that God has seen fit to honor us with such a magnificent opportunity. He must have great confidence in us! Let us be busy and fulfill our destiny."

The younger monk was indignant. "The years have dulled your mind, old one," he replied. "I see now that you are not the distinguished Master I once believed you to be. Rather, you are a pathetic sentimentalist who cannot keep his priorities straight. You would risk your life for someone you don't even know. Old one, when men allow their own private consciences to cloud their perception of reality, they are fools indeed."

"When one abandons his own private conscience for the sake of avaricious expediency, he is the real fool. He thus relinquishes his true humanity, and is transformed into a empty shell, just an animated corpse, and is, of all men, most to be pitied," was the disdainful reply.

The Master continued, "Are you so afraid of death that you are paralyzed by the mere thought of it? Young man, for your own sake, you must not allow fear of death to drive you to inaction. Be not afraid of circumstances that can merely take your life, but can do nothing further. In the end, we're all dead anyway! Look here now; if you insist on being afraid, fear a cowardly, purposeless life, where you shrink in dread from every opportunity and leave every challenge unanswered. Yes, I tell you, fear that!"

"Enough of this silliness! Have it your way old man," quipped the young monk as he turned to leave. "I will not be a victim of your maudlin foolishness..." His voice trailed off as he hurriedly made his wayup the path and rapidly disappeared in the swirling snow.

Undiscouraged, the Hwa Rang Master redirected his attention to the ill-fated traveler far below, calling to him and telling him to stay where he was and that help was on the way. The Master then began the treacherous decent from the trail to the ledge to which the traveler was desperately clinging. Inch by inch, he made his way down, all the time shouting words of encouragement. After many anxious moments and near-mishaps, the Master finally reached the traveler. By this time, it was nearly dark. The temperature was falling. The Master had very little feeling left in his fingers, and there was no letup in the wind.

Undeterred, the Master made a sling, placed the traveler in it, secured the sling to his shoulder, and started back up.

The ascent was more tedious and treacherous than the decent, but, with icy determination, the Master pressed on, clawing his way upward. As he climbed, he conversed with the traveler, assuring him that he did this sort of thing all the time and that the whole affair was hardly even exciting. Finally, miraculously the two reached the trail. Night was now upon them, and the Master was near total exhaustion. Nonetheless, he immediately started in the direction of the monastery.

After several agonizing kilometers, the Master, his strength nearly gone, finally stumbled to his knees. The traveler called to him from his sling and said, "Friend, you have done all you can, more than anyone could have expected. Leave me here now and go on by yourself. I am too great a burden. Go on alone. Save yourself!"

"Never!" snapped the indignant monk. "I still havestrength. God would be disappointed in me if I left you now. We will triumph together, or not at all. This is my appointed mission and, so long as I draw breath, I will not capitulate." With that, the monk struggled back to his feet and pressed on.

What happened next has been called "impossible." The two covered the remaining distance in near total darkness. Shortly after midnight, they arrived at the gates of the monastery. The doors were opened, and the Master crawled across the threshold, the traveler still in the sling around his shoulder. Both Master and traveler were barely conscious. Tenants of the monastery rushed out, brought them in, and tended to their needs.

In the warmth and comfort of the monastery the two recovered rapidly. After several days of convalescing, they were both up and about, none the worse for wear.

It was then that the Master inquired about the young trainee with whom he had started his journey, but who had deserted him and gone on ahead. The Master had assumed that he had made it safely to the monastery. However, no one had seen him.

The Master remained in the monastery for the balance of the winter, teaching and relating the details of his miraculous deliverance. One sunny, spring day, he was teaching in the courtyard when a caravan arrived, the first since winter had subsided. They brought with them a corpse, the frozen remains of luckless traveler they had discovered a considerable distance from the monastery. When the Master viewed the cadaver, he instantly recognized itas the young apprentice with whom he had started his journey many months earlier.

In the years that followed, the Master became a famous and sought-after pundit and was known throughout the land as a man of great wisdom. He was a councilor to kings and the recipient of many accolades.

One day, during his later years, a young student came to him and asked, " Master, what is the greatest unhappiness in this life?" The Master reflected a moment, then answered, "There are many unhappinesses, but there is one that is greater than all the others, and woe unto him upon whom it falls!"

"What is this dreadful thing?" asked the student.

"The greatest unhappiness is to have no burden to bear!" was the reply.

Who has no "burden to bear" is indeed lost!

/John