A story from Ajahn Sombat · 2 min read

The Farmer and the Horse

For the mind that is sure this is bad news.

Ink-wash illustration of a farmer and his horse

There was once an old farmer who lived at the edge of a village, with his son and a single horse. The horse was a good one. It plowed his field and carried his rice to market, and by the standards of the village the old man was fortunate.

One morning the horse was gone. The gate had been left open in the night, and the animal had run off into the hills. When the neighbours heard, they came full of sympathy. “What terrible luck,” they said. “Your only horse, gone. How will you work the field now? This is a disaster.”

The old farmer looked at them and said, “Perhaps. We’ll see.”

The neighbours went away shaking their heads. What a strange old man, they thought.

Seven days later the horse came back, and it did not come back alone. It had run with a herd of wild horses in the hills and led them home through the open gate, so that where there had been one horse there were now a dozen, stamping in the old man’s yard.

Again the neighbours came, this time full of congratulations. “What wonderful luck! One horse became twelve. You are a rich man now. What a blessing!”

The old farmer looked at them and said, “Perhaps. We’ll see.”

Now the old man’s son set about taming the wild horses so they could be ridden and sold. But they were strong and frightened, and one afternoon a horse threw the young man hard to the ground. His leg broke in two places, the bone did not set straight, and he was left lame.

The neighbours returned, their faces long. “What misfortune. Your only son, crippled. Who will help you in your old age now? This is the worst luck of all.”

The old farmer looked at them and said, “Perhaps. We’ll see.”

A month later, soldiers came to the village. A war had broken out, and the army was seizing every able bodied young man to fight at the front, from which few were expected to return.

They went from house to house, taking the sons. But when they saw that the old farmer’s son had a broken, useless leg, they passed him by and left him where he was.

The other young men marched away to the war. The old farmer’s son stayed home. And the neighbours, who had sons of their own in their arms that week, came once more to the old man’s gate. But this time they said nothing at all. They only looked at him.

And the old farmer looked back at them, and he said, gently, “We’ll see.”

The end

Ajahn Sombat’s reflection

“People climb my hill with every worry. I have a story for each.”

We are certain, so certain, that we know what each thing means the moment it happens.

The horse runs away and we call it a catastrophe. The horses return and we call it a triumph.

We spend our lives labelling events good or bad the instant they arrive, and then feeling the full weight of the label, despair at the bad, giddiness at the good, as though our judgement were the final word. But we are standing too close to see. We are given one small piece of a story that is still being written, and we mistake it for the ending.

The old farmer is not wise because he knows the future. He does not. He is wise because he knows that he does not, and so he refuses to torment himself with a verdict he is in no position to give.

“We’ll see” is not indifference. It is the most honest thing a person can say about a life that is still unfolding. Almost all of our suffering comes from believing we already know how the story ends. So it is worth asking yourself, gently:

What have you already labelled a disaster this year, and is it truly finished, or are you calling the ending before the story is done?

The next time something happens that you are quick to call bad, a plan that falls through, a door that closes, a piece of news that lands wrong, try saying the farmer’s words before you say anything else.

Perhaps. We’ll see.

You are not pretending it is good. You are only admitting, honestly, that you cannot yet know what it will come to mean.

Hold the judgement loosely for one day, and notice how much lighter the day is when you are not carrying a verdict you were never qualified to give.

Sixty-five years on the same path

Ordained at twenty-five in the Thai Forest Tradition, a lifetime of listening taught him what quiets the human soul.

Learn more about the monk

Lessons from the Monk

50 Stories to Calm the Mind and Find Peace, by Ajahn Sombat.

Each story shares a timeless life lesson and shows how you can apply it to your own life. No prior knowledge of Buddhism is required.

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What these stories give you

Mindfulness

Experience everyday life with more mindfulness and gratitude. These stories invite you to pause in a world of constant distraction.

Inner Peace

Learn how to meet difficulties, release negativity, and return to a steadier inner life.

Better Relationships

Practice compassion and understanding in the relationships that matter most.

Personal Growth

See yourself and your experiences from a gentler, more useful perspective.

Stress Relief

Quiet the thoughts that circle at night and worry less about the people you love.

Contentment

Notice what is already enough and meet ordinary life with greater balance and gratitude.

What readers say

I bought this for myself and ended up sending a copy to my sister after she was diagnosed. There was one story in particular that I knew she needed to read. She called me after finishing it and said, ‘I think you knew exactly what I needed.’ That meant more to me than any gift I could have sent her.

Diane, 58

I’m not particularly religious, and honestly, I almost didn’t buy this book. I expected it to be preachy, but it wasn’t. The stories are about things I actually recognize like dealing with marriage, children, loneliness, forgiveness, and getting older. I’ve already recommended it to two friends and they love it.

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