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K'ang 8

As told by Jerry M. Pickard

When K'ang opened his eyes, he saw his old white cat's azure eyes gazing into his, and it extended a paw up to his face, in affection. "Hai, old warrior, a tribute?" K'ang had seen the dead vole at his feet, and understood. They had been together for many years and each knew and accepted the mysteries of the other. K'ang strongly suspected the cat meditated in its own way. K'ang took a moment to savor the smells of his garden, since the air was rarely calm. Flowers, fruits, herbs, and rice, mixed with the smells of earth and tea to reward his love of them.

The boy came to K'ang from one of the many paths to his dwelling.

"Isva-K'ang, in the village, there are many people who pray at Sangha, but they do not seem as peaceful as you. They say many words, wave their arms, and bang and clatter the gongs and bells, but they do not seem to have contentment. Why is this so?"

K'ang thought for a moment, and said, "Boy, there are many ways to get to the same place, and you must study all you can, from all places. Do you see that the weeds and night-soil nourish the flowers?"

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