Chinese Whispers

A Zen master sat down to eat with his student. As he was eating, the master peeled a small splinter from his chopstick and balanced it carefully on the edge of the bowl. Seeing the student's intent gaze the master said 'Contained within this chopstick hair is the greatest truth I shall ever instruct you in.' Hearing those words the pupil cemented his sights on the sliver of wood, and as the master slurped his noodles, he looked away not once. The master, impressed by his pupil's concentration, removed himself from the table and slipped from the room. Night fell, time passed and dawn rose. Still the student continued to stare. Seven days came and went, and soon it had been a month, then another, until seasons slipped by like shadows past the door. The student's beard grew longer, his clothes grew shabbier, and over time his body became weak and frail. Finally, after twelve years had passed, one bright spring morning the master entered the room once more. He looked at the student, 'Tell me, have you found your answer?' The pupil, subdued and defeated, finally broke his gaze. 'Master, I have looked on this chopstick hair for twelve years now. Unwavering have my eyes been, and yet enlightenment has eluded me. Please, take pity on one so humble as I, reveal the secret to me.' The master's eyes softened, and he bowed his head. 'The secret is this: Don't take me so seriously.'