The Memory Painter

Bodhidharma nodded. “Preferably without bears. I am in need of a meditation.”

The abbot snapped his fingers at the youngest monk. “Huike! Show him to a cave, in the next valley. See that he has food and water.”

Fang began to leave, but Bodhidharma called out, “Abbot?” The old man started and turned around. “Get your men out into the forest for some exercise. These trees can be wonderful teachers.”

To make his point, he jabbed a bamboo trunk. His finger pierced it straight through. The tree did not even sway. The men stood dumbfounded—what they had just seen was not possible.

Bodhidharma bent down and peered at the monks through the hole. “To the cave.” Then he took off, assuming Huike would follow.

As they marched through the forest, Huike tripped and stumbled over his robes to keep up with Bodhidharma’s long-legged stride. “But the caves are this way,” he stammered, struggling to catch his breath.

Bodhidharma didn’t speak and soon he arrived at the cave he had already chosen as his resting place. He went deep inside and laid his mat on the ground near the back wall.

Huike hovered at the cave’s entrance, straining to see Bodhidharma through the shadows. “Shall I bring food and water?” he asked tentatively.