The Weight of a Feather

A young scholar entered the tea house, his brow furrowed with frustration. He set his heavy scrolls on the table with a thud and sighed deeply. The Daoist master poured him tea without a word.

“Master,” the scholar began, “I have studied the classics, debated with sages, and filled my mind with knowledge. Yet, the more I learn, the heavier it all feels. Should wisdom not lighten the heart?”

The master lifted a single feather from a nearby tray and placed it on the scholar’s stack of scrolls.

“Master, what does this mean?” the scholar asked, puzzled.

The master smiled. “Lift your scrolls.”

The scholar strained and grunted, hoisting the heavy stack.

“Now,” the master said, “lift only the feather.”

The scholar picked it up effortlessly, the soft plume almost floating in his grasp.

The master sipped his tea. “When the mind clings to knowledge, it becomes like your heavy scrolls. But true wisdom is light as a feather—it does not weigh upon you, yet it moves with the wind.”

The scholar looked at the feather in his hand, then at the towering scrolls before him. A breeze stirred through the tea house, and the feather drifted from his fingers, carried away into the open air.

He exhaled, a quiet smile forming.

“Master, I think I understand.”

The Daoist master nodded and poured him more tea.
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Learn more about Daoism, its philosophy and practice in the book series - Daoist Cultivation.