A Little Act That Shows Your Big Heart: Wisdom in Integrity

Monk Meditating

The monk sat in the city, unmoved by the horns and the hurried feet around him. He was not here to teach; he had long abandoned that weight. Yet, his mind wandered to a scene that refused to leave him.

A boy of seven, on a wet morning, walking into school five minutes late. The guards no longer noted names — rain had softened even the rules. The other children hurried in, grateful for the leniency. But this boy paused. He searched for the gatekeeper, almost anxiously, as if seeking his judge. None summoned him. None accused him. And yet, he stood there, ready to have his name written among the latecomers.

The monk closed his eyes.

Strange, he thought, how uncorrupted hearts carry integrity like a flame cupped in small hands. Not taught, not rehearsed — just lived. The boy did not fear punishment. He simply honored the covenant between time and truth.

The monk’s thoughts darkened.

But flames do not survive long in storms. As we grow, we see another kind of world. The dishonest build mansions and are called successful. The clever cheat and are celebrated. Slowly, the child within us learns that the wildflower of integrity withers, while the weeds of compromise thrive. We trade the innocence of truth for the currency of gain.

He looked at the restless city, where men carried briefcases heavier than their consciences.

And yet, he mused, perhaps inside every one of them is still that child — searching for the gatekeeper, wishing to write his name, even when no one is watching. That child is not gone, only buried under the dust of ambition. If only we could meet him again, we might remember that integrity is not a rule but a mirror. To see ourselves clearly — that is wealth. All else is illusion.

The monk did not speak these words aloud. He carried them within, like a secret prayer the city would never hear.

#Journal of a #ReluctantMonk