Thought is omni­vor­ous, and the mind takes in everything it meets. A good example is con­ta­gious, but a bad example is far more con­ta­gious. What you would rather reject, the mind mostly takes in as well. What you cri­ti­cise is a sens­it­ive point for you; you feed it, and res­ist­ance is all but an invit­a­tion. So do not take note of the faults and short­com­ings of oth­ers, for soon­er or later they will become the sub­ject of your med­it­a­tion.

There once lived a dis­tin­guished brah­mana, a renowned mem­ber of the priestly order. Strong in faith, rich in devo­tion, full of spir­itu­al powers. Next door to him lived a pros­ti­tute. Some­times oppos­ites meet at such close quar­ters. Such was the priest's dubi­ous neigh­bour, and a pretty lady she cer­tainly was, pleas­ing to look at and very pop­u­lar with men. Many sought her out, hop­ing for her ser­vices. The brah­mana, it is true, was res­ol­ute and firm in his vows, yet no one sought his com­pany. All who passed his door ended up next door, and this vexed the brah­mana.

– What a degraded life! Dif­fer­ent guests every day… How­ever hard I try to radi­ate good­ness next door, they keep dis­turb­ing my med­it­a­tion. It is a dis­grace, all the same!

The brah­mana pondered: what was he to do? How could he bring his neigh­bour and her vis­it­ors to see reas­on?

– I may not be able to change them at a stroke, but this is a ter­rible state of affairs all the same! First of all, I shall keep an eye on them! Then I shall count how many come to this depraved woman…

He resolved that for every guest who vis­ited next door he would place a stone in his own yard. The little pile of stones grew quickly, and gradu­ally a ver­it­able hill rose in the brah­mana's yard. This was the res­ult of his med­it­a­tion, and the pile of stones kept rising high­er and high­er.

– What a depraved hussy! And what dis­sol­ute men! – and all the while he kept gath­er­ing stones.

And what was hap­pen­ing next door? The har­lot was a pious soul, and she too, sure enough, was watch­ing her neigh­bour. Nor did she feel at ease:

– This great saint is forced to live next door to me… What am I to do, when such a lowly trade has fallen to my lot. But if the good Lord has given me this liv­ing, what can I do? It is my bread. How good it would be to be as pure and holy as this brah­mana next door! Look, he counts his pray­ers with stones… already a ver­it­able heap of stones is rising in his yard. How much he prays!

She received her guests, and all the while she med­it­ated on the brah­mana's pile of stones next door. And the two sides of the fence changed places. The qual­it­ies of each side passed over to the other. As if light and shad­ow traded places, the bright side falls into dark­ness and the shad­ow is dis­pelled by the light.

One may expect res­ults in keep­ing with his own con­scious­ness, his way of see­ing. Do not take the faults of oth­ers to your bosom. For man does not live by bread alone; thought also feeds, and the soul too needs nour­ish­ment. The food of the soul is the noblest fare. Count your pray­ers, not the vis­it­ors hur­ry­ing next door.