In the fall of the ninth year of training at the Monastic Academy for the Preservation of Life on Earth, I had recently started my first apprenticeship. I was preparing food for a meal, whether breakfast or lunch I can’t recall. After setting up the serving tables, I came back into the kitchen to find Forall helping himself to some of the soup we had prepared. (Forall keeps a busy schedule—it’s a marvel how he manages to fit all of his responsibilities each day into the 24-hour period most of us have to work with; perhaps he finds a few extra hours somewhere—and sometimes will get food from the kitchen at odd times.) I was confused to see him using a very small ladle, the sort we might use for serving a delicate salad dressing, and it was taking him a long time to fill his tupperware. Maybe he didn’t see the other ladles? Maybe he was struggling and needed assistance? I asked him if he needed any help. “Oh no,” he stopped me, “Don’t worry, I’m following my breath.” I stood temporarily nonplussed before turning my attention to the next task in my lunch prep flow—there were dishes to be served, and it wouldn’t do to be caught hesitating in front of my teacher when he had given, after all, a perfectly reasonable answer.
MAPLE Tales