In the foothills of the Himalayas I learned to hide from nuns. Those nuns lived in mud huts and, after sufficient austerities, they started legal battles against each other. Threw subpoenas through windows. ‘Your mud hut is six feet over the boundary’ etc.
The monks were just as bad. One monk brought his favorite cheese from New Delhi and when someone stole half of it he went on a rampage for days. (People aren’t apple trees, you know. There’s no telling what you’ll get from us.)
The master announced, “Send a delegation to New Delhi. The cheese must be restored.” The monk started to cry and said, “Please, no. I don’t care about my cheese anymore.” He had to beg the master not to get on an all-night bus to buy cheese for him. For weeks if anyone even said the word cheese his eyes would fill with tears and he'd apologize all over again.
No comments:
Post a Comment