The Two Smiles: A Lesson in Perception

 The Two Smiles: A Lesson in Perception

 

In the grand court of a mighty king, ministers, nobles, and scholars gathered in their regal finery. Discussions of power, wealth, and philosophy echoed through the magnificent hall. On this particular day, a woman of unparalleled beauty entered the court. Her presence was like a gust of fragrant wind, drawing the eyes of all present toward her.

The courtiers, warriors, and ministers—men of great stature—could not resist her allure. Their gazes followed her every movement, their minds lost in admiration. Their lips curled into smiles—smiles of desire, of longing, of fascination with her flawless form.

Amidst these men sat a monk, a renunciate who had chosen the path of realization over worldly pleasures. He too smiled, but for a different reason.

He observed the men around him, their expressions betraying their thoughts, their desires written plainly upon their faces. His smile was not one of attraction but of understanding. He saw beyond the illusion of beauty, beyond the enchantment of form.

He knew that the woman, like all beings, was but a vessel of flesh, blood, bones, and decay—a body that would one day age, wither, and return to dust. Yet, draped in a thin veil of soft skin, this impermanent shell bewitched even the most learned minds in the court.

His smile was one of compassion—for the men who were entranced by something so fleeting, for their ignorance in mistaking the perishable for the eternal. He smiled at the irony of it all: how easily the mind clings to illusion, how effortlessly the senses bind even the wise to the world of desire.

The king, noticing the monk’s serene smile, asked, “O Sage, why do you smile upon seeing this woman, just like the rest of us?”

The monk replied, “O King, they smile because they see beauty. I smile because I see their folly. What they see as enchanting, I see as transient. What they chase as pleasure, I see as suffering in disguise. Just as a golden sheath may hide a blade, this mortal form conceals decay. Yet, blinded by illusion, they rejoice in the temporary, forgetting the eternal.”

The court fell silent. The beauty that had once dazzled them now seemed less enchanting, less invincible. Some lowered their heads in reflection, while others, still lost in the world's embrace, dismissed the monk’s words.

And so, the woman left the court as gracefully as she had entered, leaving behind two kinds of smiles—one bound by illusion, the other free from it.