A Lesson in Natural Balance

Introduction

The old monastery sat nestled at the edge of a sprawling forest, its stone walls humming with the whispers of the trees. Inside, Master Renshu, a kind and patient monk, guided his three students—Mei, Kento, and Hana—through life’s mysteries. Each student came seeking peace, but today’s lesson would come from an unexpected place: the small, everyday acts of eating and being.

“Master,” Kento began one morning during their tea ceremony, “why is it so hard to resist foods that are bad for us?”

The monk smiled, the kind of smile that invited curiosity rather than answers. “Let us discover this together,” he said. “Meet me by the hazelnut tree after the midday bell.”

The students nodded, intrigued, unaware that their teacher had planned an adventure that would take them deep into the heart of their own cravings—and back to the natural rhythms of life.

The Lesson Begins

The three students gathered beneath the ancient hazelnut tree, its twisted branches heavy with nuts. Master Renshu waited with a wooden bowl filled with peanut butter and a small pile of carrots.

“Today, we will learn from the squirrels,” he said, gesturing to a nearby branch where a furry-tailed creature nibbled contentedly.

Hana giggled. “The squirrels, Master?”

“Yes,” Renshu said, his eyes twinkling. “Watch how they eat. They gather only what they need, and their food is simple. Yet they thrive in this forest.”

He placed the bowl and carrots before the students. “Now, imagine this peanut butter is a concentrated sweetness—like the foods many humans crave. Take a taste.”

Each student dipped a finger into the rich, creamy peanut butter. Mei closed her eyes, savoring the intense flavor, while Kento licked his lips and reached for more.

“And now,” Renshu said, handing them the carrots, “eat these.”

The crunch of the carrots was satisfying but far less thrilling.

“Which calls to you more strongly?” the monk asked.

“The peanut butter,” Kento admitted. “It’s sweeter, richer, more exciting.”

“Ah,” Renshu said, “but is it natural? Does it belong in the forest?” He gestured to the squirrels. “You see, they do not crave peanut butter. They do not seek it, for it does not exist in their world. Nature has tuned them, just as it has tuned us, to desire what is good and balanced. But humans, with their cleverness, have created foods so concentrated that they disrupt this harmony.”

“But it isn’t just the food that pulls you,” Renshu continued. His voice became softer, reflective. “There is another layer. Think of your cravings. Are they truly about hunger? Or do they arise from something deeper?”

The students glanced at one another, unsure.

“Humans,” Renshu explained, “became self-aware, able to look within themselves. And with this awareness came emotional wounds—grief, loneliness, fear. Yet the body, designed to seek balance, did not know how to heal these feelings. It turned to what it understood: physical sensations. Food became not just sustenance but comfort. Sweetness numbed pain. Fullness filled the emptiness inside. But the body is not built to be forced into this role. It suffers when we use it to heal what is not physical.”

A Guided Meditation

Master Renshu led his students deeper into the forest, where a small clearing bathed in sunlight awaited. “Let us meditate here,” he said, sitting cross-legged beneath a canopy of swaying branches.

“Close your eyes,” he began, his voice soft and rhythmic, like the rustle of leaves in the breeze. “Imagine you are a squirrel, moving through this forest. You leap from branch to branch, the cool air brushing your fur. You feel hunger, not as a torment, but as a gentle signal guiding you.”

The students breathed deeply, sinking into the imagery.

“You discover a hazelnut,” Renshu continued. “Its shell is rough beneath your paws. You crack it open and taste its simple, earthy flavor. It satisfies you perfectly, no more and no less.”

He paused, letting the silence settle like a soft blanket.

“Now, imagine you feel sadness, loneliness. As a squirrel, you would simply sit with it until it passed, returning to your rhythm. But imagine instead you find a jar of peanut butter. You taste it, hoping to soothe your feelings. It excites your senses in a way the nut never could. But it leaves you restless, longing for more. Your natural rhythm is disrupted. The peanut butter cannot heal your loneliness. It can only distract you.”

The students felt the truth of the monk’s words, their emotions as vivid as the imagined hazelnuts and the jar.

“Repeat silently after me,” Renshu said.“I honor my body’s natural wisdom.”

“I seek what nourishes me, not what numbs me.”

When they opened their eyes, the world around them felt clearer, more vibrant, and their hearts heavier with understanding.

The Fruit Flies

That evening, Renshu brought the students to the monastery kitchen. A jar of honey sat on the counter, its lid askew. Fruit flies buzzed in a cloud above it.

“Observe,” the monk said. “Even the smallest creatures are drawn to sweetness. But their attachment can trap them.”

He carefully sealed the jar and watched as the flies dispersed.

“Our cravings are like these flies,” he explained. “They are natural but can become harmful when focused on what is unnatural. The honey is too much, too concentrated. But a ripe fruit, plucked from a tree, would guide them back to balance.”

“And so it is with emotions,” he added. “The mind seeks to soothe itself, but it uses the body, forcing it to bear a burden it was never meant to carry. Food, comfort, sexuality—these are not problems. But when we use them to escape, they become chains.”

The Conclusion

In the days that followed, the students began to notice their own cravings with fresh eyes. Mei realized her habit of eating sweets after meals wasn’t hunger but a way to avoid feelings of boredom. Kento saw how his love for salty snacks stemmed from stress. And Hana, who had struggled with overeating, discovered the joy of truly tasting and appreciating simple foods.

One morning, beneath the hazelnut tree, Master Renshu addressed them one last time. “Nature has gifted us the perfect foods—fruits, vegetables, nuts. They fuel us, connect us, and bring us harmony. But it is not only our eating that must return to balance. We must learn to sit with our emotions, to understand them, and to heal them. To take in what is natural is to honor our bodies. To take in what is concentrated is to create concentrated chaos within ourselves. The choice is yours: harmony or disruption.”

The students bowed deeply, their hearts full of gratitude and understanding.

Questions for Further Reflection

1. What are some examples of natural foods that bring you joy and balance?

2. When do you find yourself craving concentrated foods, and what emotions might be driving those cravings?

3. How can you incorporate the affirmation “I seek what nourishes me, not what numbs me” into your daily life?

4. What steps can you take to understand and heal the emotions that drive your cravings?

5. How might you practice sitting with discomfort, rather than seeking physical distractions?

   
   
   
   

   

   
   

A Dancing Buddha Quote

“To heal the mind, we must not burden the body. Let the heart sit with its pain, and let the body live in its harmony.”