The Tale of Master Po - a short story

High in the craggy folds of a mountain, where the air smelled of pine and the occasional whiff of existential dread, a seeker named Lila trudged upward, chasing rumors of an enlightened master named Po. Word had it he lived in a dilapidated temple, dispensing wisdom so profound it could make your ego dissolve like sugar in tea. Lila, a recovering over-thinker with a backpack full of self-help books, was ready for answers, preferably ones that didn’t require a vision board.

The journey was surprisingly pleasant. Wildflowers bobbed in the breeze, a chipmunk winked at her or maybe it was just blinking, and the path was mercifully free of motivational posters. At the summit, she found the temple, a sagging heap of weathered wood and stone that looked like it had been sneezed out by a hurricane. A faded sign read, “Temple of No Big Deal.” Lila pushed open the creaky door and stepped inside.

In a far corner, bathed in a rogue sunbeam that seemed to have wandered in by mistake, sat an older man, cross-legged on a frayed mat. His face was creased like a well-loved map, and his eyes twinkled with the mischief of someone who’d just eaten the last cookie. Beside him, on a velvet pillow embroidered with tiny lotus flowers, lounged a Chihuahua. The dog was loaf-shaped, legs tucked under, head resting on the pillow, its beady eyes tracking Lila like a tiny, judgmental Buddha. A small, empty pillow sat in front of them, clearly meant for her.

Lila approached, sat cross-legged, and waited. The silence was thick, broken only by the faint hum of a distant bee and the Chihuahua’s occasional snort. After what felt like an eternity but was probably three minutes, the dog lifted its head, fixed its gaze on the old man, and let out a sharp yap. The man, Master Po, opened his eyes, his face radiating the calm of someone who’d just remembered where they parked their car. He smiled at Lila.

“What brings you here, seeker?” he asked, his voice warm as a sunbaked stone.

Lila cleared her throat, suddenly aware of the Chihuahua’s unblinking stare. “I want to know my true self. What is my Original Face, the one I had before my parents were born?”

Master Po tilted his head toward the Chihuahua, who responded with a low grrrf. Po nodded sagely and turned back to Lila. “Your Original Face is not a face at all. It’s the one who’s asking the question and the one who’s not asking anything.”

Lila blinked, her brain doing cartwheels. “But… how do I find it?”

The Chihuahua yipped twice, tail twitching. Po glanced at the dog, then back at Lila. “Stop looking, and it’s already there. Like trying to find your glasses when they’re on your head. Or like chasing your own shadow, it runs faster the harder you try.”

Lila frowned, scribbling mental notes. “So, I just… do nothing?”

Woof! The Chihuahua’s bark was crisp, almost exasperated. Po chuckled. “Doing nothing is still doing something. Be like this temple, falling apart, but still standing. No effort, just being.”

The dialogue continued, each question from Lila met with a bark, yip, or growl from the Chihuahua, translated by Po into nuggets of wisdom that were both profound and slightly absurd. On the nature of suffering: “It’s like stepping on a Lego, painful until you realize it’s just a piece of the game.” On enlightenment, “It’s not a destination, it’s noticing the lotus flower under your foot while you’re busy climbing mountains.” On life’s purpose, “Purpose? That’s like asking a cloud why it rains. It just does, and the world gets wet.”

Lila was entranced, her heart lighter with each exchange. The Chihuahua’s barks seemed to carry the weight of galaxies, and Po’s translations felt like a cosmic stand-up routine. Finally, she leaned forward, eager for more. “What’s the secret to staying in this… awake state?”

The Chihuahua lifted its head, let out a prolonged arff-arff-yip!, and stared at Po. Po’s eyes widened slightly, and he stood, brushing dust off his robe. “The Master says it’s time for a poop.”

Lila blinked. “Wait, what?”

Po gestured toward the Chihuahua, who was now stretching, tiny legs wobbling like a drunk gymnast. “The Master’s wisdom comes in cycles. Right now, the cycle demands a poop break.”

The Chihuahua trotted toward the temple door, pausing to bark sharply at Po. Po shuffled to a corner, rummaged through a pile of incense sticks and crumpled scrolls, and pulled out a bright blue poop bag. “Yes, yes,” he muttered, “I won’t forget the sacred vessel for the Master’s excrement.”

As they ambled out, the Chihuahua barked again, a high-pitched yap-yap. Po glanced back at Lila, his face serene. “The Master also notes that the lotus flowers are particularly beautiful today. You might want to take a look.”

Lila followed them outside, where the mountain air was crisp and the lotus flowers, blooming improbably in a patch of dirt glowed like tiny pink galaxies. The Chihuahua squatted with regal dignity, Po standing by with the poop bag like a devoted acolyte. Lila laughed, the sound bubbling up unbidden. The absurdity of it all, the temple, the dog, the poop bag felt like the truest sermon she’d ever heard.

As Po scooped the Master’s offering with a flourish, he called back, “Your Original Face, Lila, it’s in the laugh you just let out. Keep laughing, and you’ll never lose it.”

Lila sat by the lotuses, grinning as the Chihuahua trotted back to its pillow, mission accomplished. The mountain seemed to chuckle with her, and for the first time, she felt no need to ask anything at all.