There was once a monastery in a remote province, situated on a very busy east-west path, such that nearly every traveler would stay for the night. The monastery was run by five elderly monks.
It was not always that way. There used to be 40 monks of varying ages, but as they started to pass away of old age, their numbers diminished, until, finally, seven remained, including the master.
On the eve of his death, the master transmitted his Buddha mind to the most enlightened of the six, but the morning after, both the master and his disciple were dead, the latter having died of a stroke.
Left without a master, aging and barely able to operate the monastery, the monks tried to impress upon their guests the simplicity and beauty of their way, but no one, not even the weariest of travelers, showed any interest in joining them.
After one of them fell ill and almost died, the monks decided, out of sheer desperation, to seek advice from a mystic living in a nearby forest. They traveled for half a day to reach his cabin. He greeted them from his garden and invited them into his sitting room.
They told him about the events that lead them to their current circumstance, how they tried and failed to engage travelers to join their ranks, and how, if the situation did not improve, the death of any one of them would make it impossible to continue running the monastery, which would end the succession of masters in their monastic lineage, and would leave many travelers with nowhere to turn during their long journey.
The mystic reflected for 3 hours. He sat motionless and expressionless - his eyes fixed on the wall opposite him. The monks were so entranced by this, that they sat equally still and quiet for the entire duration. He then stood up and asked the monks to walk with him to his garden. As they walked out of his cabin, he began to speak in a quiet and monotone voice:
"I do not know why fate brought you to the circumstance you find yourselves in today, or how you might better engage your guests to join you, or what will happen to weary travelers if the monastery closes, but I do know one thing."
By this time the monks had reached the mystic's garden. The mystic himself never left his doorway. He just spoke louder as the monks got further away, which created the Illusion of closeness. The monks paused and listened intently. The flowers in the garden swayed within a soft breeze.
"You need not concern yourselves with your lineage, because one of you is already a great Buddha."
They turned in unison and began to clamor as to who, but the mystic abruptly closed and locked the door. After 30 minutes of knocking and pleading, they gave up and began their long journey home in a somber mood.
In the days that followed, not knowing who among them was the great Buddha, they treated each other with newfound reverence and comported themselves with newfound grace.
In the weeks that followed, this mutual reverence and grace permeated every aspect of the monks' behavior. The guests took notice. The word spread. Within six months, 10 travelers stayed on to live their way. After a year, 30 more joined. When asked by new disciples, "who among you is the master?", the monks would answer, "all of us and none of us."
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Note: This story is adapted from a much shorter Zen teaching whose origin and author are, as yet, unknown to me, but is probably 1000s of years old and written by someone who is more modern than I will ever be.
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