I was once crafting a story with someone, and in the voice of the character I was creating, asked why another character was so enamored of being served a dinner every night that had more food than he could hope to eat, with ingredients so rare and expensive that had he instead enjoyed the simple fare she did, a whole lot more food could be afforded and shared with a whole lot more people.
The person I was working with had a response that the character she was speaking to was ready with. The gist was something along the lines of, “He feels that he does so much for his people, that he deserves to enjoy the finer things. It doesn’t even occur to him that it isn’t completely fair.”
I’m thinking of this because of a koan I came across today:
Bankei was a beloved master of advanced years. At one point, a young disciple named Dairyo was made cook for the monastery, and he felt that he should serve only fresh miso to Bankei’ to protect his health, while everyone else would eat the miso that had fermented.
It didn’t take Bankei long to notice that his bowl had a better miso than his pupils. So rather than eat, he sent for the cook to inquire of him what the deal was. Dairyo said that due to Bankei’s age and position, he shouldn’t eat the older, fermented miso.
Bankei replied, “Then you think I shouldn’t eat!” He then went to his room and locked the door. Dairyo followed and remained by the door, begging his master’s forgiveness. Seven days went on, with Bankei unwilling to open his door and Dairyo unwilling to leave it.
Finally, one of the other pupils called out to Bankei, “You may be all right in there, old master, but this young disciple here has to eat! He can’t sit out here starving forever!”
At that, Bankei came out, smiling as he helped Dairyo up. He told the young man, “I insist on eating the same food as the least of my followers. When you become teacher, I want you to remember this.”
Nynia in the Now 
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