Miracle is but a Play

In the mosque where Sai Baba lived, there was a narrow wooden plank suspended from the ceiling.

It was tied with thin strips of cloth, hardly strong enough to bear much weight. The plank itself was small—just enough for a person to lie upon, and even that seemed difficult.

Yet, Baba would sleep on it.

Every night, he would climb onto the plank and lie there quietly, as though it were the most natural thing. There were no signs of effort or strain.

Those who saw it were puzzled.

The cloth supports looked too weak. The plank seemed too narrow. No one could understand how it held him.

Some villagers tried to watch closely, hoping to see how he climbed or lay upon it. But Baba did not encourage such curiosity.

In time, he removed the plank altogether.

He did not explain it, nor did he allow anyone to make much of it.

For those who had seen it, the question remained not about how the plank held him, but about how little importance Baba gave to such things.

What others found extraordinary, he treated as nothing at all.

Moral

What appears impossible loses meaning before one who is unattached to it.