Member-only story
The Monk Who Became the Mayor
On What Makes a (Good) Leader
Over the course of his forty-year career, Rimer walked the perimeter of the monastery every day at noon. He knew everything about the path — how the sun painted light in lines and angles, where forgotten chunks of stone emerged from the garden, and the best place to find some privacy.
Rimer was a normal monk. A good monk, a faithful monk, but a normal monk. In the world of monks, Rimer was nothing to write home about.
At 12pm each day, rain or shine, Rimer left through the stone archway on the south side and began his ritualistic walk. He always took it slow, allowing himself to notice anything that might catch his eye. With the first corner turned, he would continue on — creating a bit of space between the stone wall on his right and his robe. Breathing deeply, he loved and needed these moments. Being a monk — although you might not expect it — brought a certain amount of stress.
He took it slow, readying himself to notice anything that might catch his eye.
As Rimer rounded the next corner, he would turn his attention to the north, walking over to the remnants of the monastery’s earliest stone wall, shaded by an old, massive maple tree. Sitting down, he acknowledged the sight of the town way across the countryside on the other side of the valley.
Beneath him, one patch of bright green moss grew on the stone. Right on schedule, Rimer’s heart and mind aligned to produce a teaspoon or two of tears which fell directly below. Having reached the last season of his life, the monk never became what he dreamed to be, a leader. Each time there was an opening for an elder monk position, he was overlooked and unchosen.
Right on schedule, Rimer’s heart and mind aligned to produce a teaspoon or two of tears which fell directly below.
The ritual of the walk was the time that Rimer dedicated to his disappointments. On that stone, he would notice how his sadness painted shadows in lines and angles, where forgotten chunks of unforgiveness emerged…
