"Blind Faith, Empty Bowl"

**Blind Faith, Empty Bowl**

In a quiet mountain village nestled between the Himalayas, there lived a man named Kashi. He was known not for his wealth or his wisdom, but for his **unshakable faith in God**. Every morning, Kashi would rise before the sun, bathe in the freezing river, and walk barefoot to the temple at the edge of the forest, where he would pray for hours.

"God will provide," he would tell anyone who questioned his way of life. Kashi had no job, no home, and often no food—but he carried with him a **clay bowl**, which he believed the Divine would fill, either through miracles or the kindness of others.

The villagers admired his devotion, but they whispered among themselves.

**“Faith is good,”** they said, **“but a man must also work to fill his bowl.”**

But Kashi wouldn’t listen. He believed that true faith meant surrendering *everything*—even effort itself.

Days passed. Sometimes he would receive offerings from kind strangers—some rice, lentils, or a piece of bread. Other days, his bowl remained empty. He would smile anyway, sitting beneath the peepal tree, whispering mantras under his breath.

One evening, after three days of fasting, Kashi stumbled into the temple, weaker than ever. He placed his empty bowl before the altar and prayed aloud:

> “O Lord, I have given you everything. I ask for nothing but one meal. If You are truly the provider, show me now.”

As the sun set, the temple door creaked open. A **wandering monk** entered—cloaked in white, eyes glowing with peace. He walked straight to Kashi and said, **“I have come with an answer.”**

“Are you from God?” Kashi asked, trembling.

“I am a seeker, like you,” the monk replied. “But I come with a message. You are starving not because God abandoned you, but because you misunderstood Him.”

Kashi’s eyes widened. “How can that be? I trusted Him with my whole life!”

The monk gently sat beside him and spoke:

> “God does not fill bowls that we place in front of Him. He fills the ones we carry with us as we walk His path.”

Kashi looked confused.

The monk continued:

> “Faith is not about doing nothing. Faith is walking into the world, trusting that even through your efforts, God’s hand guides you. The farmer plows his field in faith that the rain will come. The weaver spins his thread, hoping to sell his cloth. They all pray—but they also act.”

He pointed to Kashi’s bowl. “This bowl is not empty because God ignored you. It is empty because you left it at His feet, rather than carrying it to where He works—in the hearts and hands of others.”

Tears welled up in Kashi’s eyes. “Then what must I do?”

The monk smiled. “Walk. Serve. Help others. Share what little you have, and the Divine will flow through your service. Keep your bowl open—but carry it.”

That night, Kashi slept without food again—but with a full heart. The next morning, he began sweeping the temple steps. He helped a blind man cross the road. He gathered herbs for an old widow who could no longer climb the hills. And though he did not ask, **food began to come**—one offering at a time, through grateful hearts.

Kashi’s faith remained, but it was no longer blind. It had vision now—rooted not in waiting, but **in walking with God**.

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