The scent of flowers, incense and jasmine cannot travel against the wind, but the fragrance of good deeds travels in all directions.

This is the answer the Buddha gave to his disciple Ānanda, who asked whether there was a kind of perfume which could travel in all directions, even when the wind was blowing in only one direction.

The Buddha explained that by taking refuge in the teachings of the Buddha and that by living an ethical life, people will naturally begin to abide in a state of harmony and non-attachment that is both generous and free. It is in this state, free from self-consciousness, that they perfume the air in all directions. In other words, to the benefit of all.

The scent of flowers, incense and jasmine…

At the time of writing, it is the month of March and spring has begun. Already local gardens are full of the fragrance of hyacinths. Drifts of crocuses and daffodils cover the grass verges leading into town. However, it is not unusual for those lost in thought or absorbed in their smartphones to be unaware of the beauty around them.

…cannot travel against the wind…

The wind blowing from the south carries a flower's scent in one direction only. Its perfume cannot permeate every direction. In the same way, the sense of 'I', whether distracted by thoughts or by a phone, creates a barrier to the clear perception of reality. When freed from this barrier, each sense has its own consciousness. Each flows with phenomena without hindrance. The nose smells a flower's scent. The eye sees its shape and colour. The senses are impersonal. It is the delusion of 'I' that distorts them with 'my' thoughts and judgements.

The eye sees blue hyacinths. Immediately we decide that they are desirable. We would like to enjoy them in our own garden. It is too late to plant bulbs, so perhaps we take a photograph with our phone. Perhaps we decide to buy some artificial ones from the garden centre. We are rather pleased by the thought that they will not only last forever but need no maintenance. We forget that, like everything else, even plastic flowers are in a state of flux. We place them in the garden. One night, playful fox cubs chew them into little pieces.

When a sense experience displeases us, we attempt to eradicate it, forgetting once again that everything is constantly coming to be and ceasing to be. For example, our immediate neighbours are very fond of onions. In fact, they cook them most days. The smell wafts up through our kitchen floorboards. Instead of simply allowing the nose to smell the onions, it is only too easy to allow irritation to create negative thoughts: "I really loathe this smell. I'll just get rid of it at once." The kitchen window is opened, but this only encourages the smell to strengthen. Eventually it naturally subsides.

It is this clinging to, or attempting to push away, phenomena that creates the suffering 'me'. After the dark winter days, the sudden, delightful sight of dancing daffodils may momentarily extinguish 'me' and all 'my' unease. For just a few minutes, we dance with them.

When we devote our lives to the Zen Way, such moments very gradually become more familiar. We are encouraged to wholeheartedly give ourselves away into whatever is occurring. If desire for hyacinths or hatred of onions arises, we meet the surging emotions. We reverently ask them to burn 'me' away. I 'die' as the precious energy is transformed into Choiceless Awareness (a state of harmony, a phrase coined by Krishnamurti).

When we wholeheartedly give ourselves into the daily timetable, all the pictures that make up 'me' are emptied out. The Buddha referred to this ‘giving of ourselves’ as Right Effort. Right Effort leads to Right Action. Only Choiceless Awareness is capable of Right Action, being totally selfless and free from intention. At one with everything, it unfailingly responds appropriately to each situation. Compassion, warmth and wisdom flow. Literature often captures this transformation more vividly than abstract teaching.

In Elizabeth von Arnim’s book The Enchanted April, these qualities blossom. Weary of a grey, wet London, Rose Arbuthnot and Lotty Wilkins decide on impulse to rent an Italian castle on the shores of the Mediterranean. They are joined by the elderly Mrs Fisher and the beautiful Lady Caroline. They all come from disparate backgrounds and are rather wary of each other. Each, in her own way, is deeply unhappy. Each is burdened by mental pictures of herself.

Rose believes her husband no longer loves her. She seeks an elusive fulfilment in ceaseless work amongst the poor. Lotty is fearful of her husband, who is very domineering. Mrs Fisher, imperious and aloof, constantly reminisces about all the famous people she has known, but who are now deceased. Lady Caroline, bored with all the attention she attracts, considers no one worthy of her and craves complete isolation.

During their stay in Italy, the sheer beauty, warmth and serenity of their surroundings slowly open their hearts. They sit quietly gazing at the flowers, the sea and the sky. Gradually, the pictures to which they have been clinging evaporate. All striving ceases. When Rose gently remarks that Lady Caroline needs help, Lotty replies:

"Oh, but nobody helps anybody in heaven. That's finished with. You don't try to 'be' or 'do'; you simply 'are'."

Finally, Lotty and Rose are filled with compassion for their husbands and invite them to Italy. Both couples are reunited in warmth and joy. Mrs Fisher and Lady Caroline drop their guard. All return to England in friendship and goodwill.

Such at-one-ment is expressed in the Zen saying:

When a spring flower blooms, it is spring everywhere.