Continually Sweeping the Dust from the Mind

Zen Master Dingzhou was walking through the monastery courtyard with a young novice when a sudden gust of wind swept through, sending a flurry of leaves tumbling from the trees. The old master bent down, picked them up one by one, and tucked them into his robe. The novice standing beside him couldn't hold back any longer. "Master, please stop! We'll sweep everything clean first thing tomorrow morning anyway. There's no need to tire yourself out like this."

Zen Master Dingzhou shook his head. "That's not how I see it. When you sweep, can you really be sure you'll get every last leaf? But each leaf I pick up means the ground is that much cleaner. And besides — I don't find it tiring at all."

The novice pressed on. "But Master, there are so many leaves. You pick them up here, and more come drifting down behind you. When will you ever finish?"

As he continued gathering leaves, the master replied, "Leaves don't just fall on the ground. They also fall in our minds. I am picking up the leaves in my own heart — and those, I can finish gathering."

Hearing this, the young monk finally understood what a Zen practitioner's life truly means. From that day on, he devoted himself to practice with renewed diligence.

Zen Master Dingzhou was, one might say, doing far more than collecting fallen leaves — he was picking away the delusions and afflictions of the mind. How many leaves blanket the mountains and rivers of the world is no concern of ours. But the leaves that fall in the human heart? Each one you gather is one fewer clouding your mind.