*Brian Wilcox. 'Twilight'
"Resentment" means, from the French, "to feel again." Resentment entails refeeling the past. The mind keeps replaying the same past, thought and emotion working together. "He did this to me." "How could she have done that to me!" "I'll never forgive them." Refeeling the past, how can we enjoy and be grateful for the blessings of now? The healing of ill-will heals the refeeling, and what arises? This healing does not mean we will be free of the pain lingering from that past, but the pain will now be pain without the addition of the suffering arising from giving our power over to the other. We can embrace the pain, and we, now, can befriend and honor it.
* * *
The Sage told the following parable of a rose and a weed, both born in the Garden of the Sun.
A lovely yellow rose adorned a beautiful garden. One early morning at sunrise, garbed with dew-dappled petals, she noticed what she had been taught was a weed. The weed was small, tender, and green, and it did not have a blossom or petals. The rose could not believe this common plant would enter a lovely garden. She could not speak but could think, and she thought, "How dare that weed! How dare that weed!" The rose did not stop for days thinking about the weed and staring at it. No longer was she turned to the Light, which had given her life. The weed, meanwhile, basked in the Sun, not concerned about the yellow rose or anything else in the garden, and it did not see itself a weed or not a weed; it was just glad to be alive and in a lovely garden, unlike so many of its kin. Soon, the rose had drooped over lifeless onto the ground, its yellow blossom wilted. The weed, however, now with a lovely yellow bloom of its own and still reveling in the Sun, grew strong and greener and lived until Winter came and welcomed it goodbye. The weed did not mind its demise, for it had enjoyed many days in the Garden of the Sun, always grateful the Light had blessed it to be born in such a beautiful place.
Later that day, a follower who had heard the parable met with the Sage. He said, "I think I get your point in the story earlier, but..." He did not finish the sentence; hence, the Sage said, "But what?" "There's someone in our group, and I don't like her!" "Why not?" inquired the Sage. "She's a hypocrite. She doesn't belong with us," said the man. The Sage asked, "And how did you come to that conclusion?" "Her actions." So, the Sage told another story.
An artist monk named Gessen, who lived in the 1700s, insisted on payment in advance, and his fees were high. Others called him the “Stingy Artist.” A geisha gave him a commission for a painting. “How much can you pay?” asked Gessen. “Whatever you charge,” said the girl, “but I want you to do the work in front of me.”
Later, the geisha called Gessen to do the painting. She was holding a feast for her patron. Gessen did the painting. Having completed it, he asked the highest sum of his time. The geisha paid him, and she turned to her patron, saying, “All this artist wants is money. His paintings are fine, but his mind is dirty; money has caused it to become muddy. Done by such a filthy mind, his work is not fit to exhibit. It's just about good enough for one of my underwear.”
Removing her skirt, the geisha asked Gessen to do another picture, this on the back of her underwear. “How much will you pay?” asked Gessen. “Any amount,” said the girl. Gessen named a high price, painted the picture in the way requested, and went away.
Later, the townspeople learned Gessen had three reasons for wanting money. First, a ravaging famine often visited his province. The rich would not help the poor. Gessen had a warehouse unknown to anyone, which he kept filled with grain for these emergencies. Also, from his village to the National Shrine, the road was in deplorable condition, and many travelers suffered while traversing it. He wanted to build a better road. Last, his teacher had passed away without realizing his wish to construct a temple. Gessen wished to do this for him.
In time, Gessen had fulfilled his three wishes. Afterward, he threw away his brushes and materials and, retiring to the mountains, never painted again.
Then, the Sage asked the disgruntled man, "Now, are you certain you know enough to call her a hypocrite?"