The afternoon softened after a long, hot day.
A gentle breeze moved through the mango leaves, carrying the scent of damp earth.
The young man sat on the steps, knees drawn to his chest, staring into the distance.
The teacher walked out with an old bamboo fan.
He sat beside him, fanned the air lightly, and asked:
“What is pulling you to one side today?”
The young man looked startled.
“But… I didn’t say anything.”
The teacher smiled.
“You don’t need to.
I can see the tilt of your mind in the way you sit.”
The young man sighed.
“Sometimes I give up too easily.
Sometimes I try too hard.
Sometimes I want to abandon everything.
Sometimes I want to force things to happen.
I don’t know which is right anymore.”
The teacher nodded.
“You need to touch the Middle Way to step out of this fracture.”
He picked up a small bamboo twig and broke it into two pieces.
“Look at these two ends.
One is giving up.
One is clinging.
You’re being pulled back and forth between them.”
The young man lowered his head.
“I know…
but I don’t know how to stand in the middle.”
The teacher placed the two pieces of bamboo on the ground.
“The Middle Way is not standing between two extremes.
The Middle Way is seeing that both extremes are illusions.”
The young man looked up.
The teacher continued:
“Giving up is one extreme.
Clinging is another.
Both depend on the belief that there is a ‘you’ who must choose a side.”
Then he spoke with the clarity of Krishnamurti:
“Look closely: who is giving up?
Who is clinging?
Can you find that person?”
The young man closed his eyes.
He searched.
He searched in the urge to quit.
He searched in the tension of wanting to succeed at all costs.
He searched in the thoughts saying “I must” and “I should.”
But there was no “person who gives up.”
No “person who clings.”
Only sensations.
Only reactions.
Only thoughts.
He opened his eyes.
“I… can’t find anyone.”
The teacher smiled.
“Exactly.
There is only movement.
No one being pulled.”
He stood and pointed to a bamboo hammock swaying gently in the wind.
“Look at that hammock.
It leans left, then right.
But it has no intention of leaning.
It simply moves with the wind.”
He looked at the young man.
“Your mind is the same.
It leans toward giving up, then toward clinging.
But no one is behind it.”
The young man stayed quiet.
The teacher continued:
“The Middle Way is not forcing yourself to stay still.
The Middle Way is seeing that the leaning is just movement.
Nothing to resist.
Nothing to fix.”
Then he added:
“When you stop trying to balance yourself,
you naturally become steady.”
The young man closed his eyes again.
He felt the tilt inside him — the urge to quit, the urge to push.
But this time, he didn’t try to correct it.
He let the mind sway like the hammock.
When he opened his eyes, the movement was still there —
but it no longer felt heavy.
It felt like a river flowing, not a battle.
The teacher said:
“Today, when your mind leans, don’t say ‘I am leaning.’
Just see: leaning is happening.”
The young man nodded.
Not because he had mastered the Middle Way,
but because he finally understood:
The Middle Way is not a position.
It is the seeing that there is no one to be pulled.
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