One day, when climbing down a tree, Bizah tore a big hole in his saffron robe. So he quickly took it to the town’s tailor to have it fixed.

When he was without his saffron robe, he noticed that people were not as kind or courteous to him, even though he was still the same Bizah.

“How can people suddenly change their view of you when you change your clothes?” Bizah asked his Master.

“I know, it does not make sense,” his Master responded.

A few days later, Bizah had his robe back. When his Master saw him he asked, “How do you feel now that you are able to wear your robe again?”

Bizah woke up with a start, as he heard his Master crying out, “Stop thief!”

He quickly got up and ran to see what he could do. But when he got to his Master’s hut, the thief had already made his escape.

“Oh, Master,” Bizah said, “you had so little and the thief had to take even that.”

“Well, he really was a foolish thief,” his Master responded. Then he pointed out of his window to the moon and said, “He left the most precious thing behind.”

Bizah was particularly quiet one day. Noticing this, the Master went up to him and asked, “Is anything bothering you, Bizah?”

Bizah and his Master would go to the village once a week to have a special kind of tea at a small restaurant.

On one such occasion, Bizah said, “Look over there, Master. That man is very selfish.  He has eaten all the food and left his wife with none.”

“Bizah, remember you should not judge others,” said his Master.

The next week when they went to the village for their teatime, the same man and his wife were there again. Once more, the man ate all the food.

The Master said, “Look at that man, Bizah. He has eaten all the food and left his wife with none.”

Bizah and the other Zen students were complaining about how hard their Master had been pushing them of late. They got together and decided someone had to tell the Master how they felt. But who should this person be?

Everyone was afraid to approach the Master. When no one volunteered for the task, they drew straws.

Alas, Bizah was the loser, so it was up to him.

The next day, just as their lesson time was coming to a close, Bizah stood up and bowed to his Master. Then he asked, “Master, may I tell you something?”

“Of course, Bizah.”

It  became a custom that, every Friday, Bizah prepared his Master a special soup. Several days in advance, Bizah planned what kind of soup he would make, then took a special trip to the market to purchase fresh ingredients.

Friday rolled around again, and at the appointed hour, Bizah carefully walked the hot bowl of soup over to his Master. Then he stood back, watching closely to see how his Master would react to the soup.

“Master, when will I know that I have achieved my life purpose?” asked Bizah.

An unusually long silence passed between the Master and Bizah.

Then, slowly and with emphasis on each word, the Master responded, “When the notion of your life purpose no longer holds any meaning.”

Bizah, a student to Zen, one day asked, “Why is the eagle able to fly so high, Master?”

“To the Eagle, he does not fly high. He just flies,” responded the Master.”