The monk who kept a secret room in a palace
A wandering monk was invited to serve as a counsellor in a royal palace. He accepted, but with a single condition: he wanted one small room that would stay locked at all times, and no one was allowed to enter.
Years passed. The monk became famous for his calm judgment, his almost eerie ability to see through political bullshit. And yet, every now and then, he disappeared into that locked room for a short while. Ministers gossiped. Courtiers invented theories. Some thought he kept secret scrolls. Others swore it was treasure. A few insisted he hid some dark magic in there.
One day, while the monk was away on a trip, curiosity finally won. Someone stole the key, opened the forbidden room…
…and found nothing.
Just a single, extremely plain monk’s robe folded in the corner.
When the monk returned, the palace stormed him with questions:
What’s the meaning of this? Why keep an empty room? Why the secrecy? Why the robe?
The monk sighed.
When I need to make a difficult decision, I step into that room, take off these fancy palace clothes, put on my old robe, and sit. That robe reminds me who I was before the titles, before the power, before the noise. I stay there until my mind becomes simple and honest again. That’s why my advice has value.
Then he looked at them with disappointment:
But I told you not to enter. If you can’t grant me even the space to remember myself, then I can’t serve you.
And he left the palace the same day.
