First off, the lesson I'm still trying to learn. I don't know the author of this fable, nor do imagine does anyone else. For my co-conspirator in chatting, texting, and searching for beauty.
Two monks were on a pilgrimage to a neighboring province. They came from an austere and strict order, and both the younger and the elder followed their vows with intense observance.
They came to a river which had begun to rise with the spring thaw. At the river was a courtesan, finely dressed and painted, her robes the softest silk.
Even though the river was not higher than a man's waist, her elaborate and heavy garb made it impossible for her to cross without being weighed down and swept away. This was evident immediately upon seeing her.
The elder monk bowed to her, offered his help, and bent his back. She climbed atop his shoulders, and he carried her across the river and deposited her on the other side. Bowing again, he resumed his path.
The two monks continued their trek for many miles, and the younger monk seethed and simmered with barely tamped frustration. Finally, he could take no more and he burst forth.
"You have broken some of our most sacred vows! You have spoken to a woman! Worse yet, you have touched her! And more horrible still, she was a woman of ill repute. All things forbidden to us. How can you have done these things and walk beside me in silence and contentment? What have you to say for yourself?"
The older monk did not pause in his stride, as he replied, "You speak of the courtesan we met many miles ago. I put her down by the riverside. When, brother, will you put her down?"
They came to a river which had begun to rise with the spring thaw. At the river was a courtesan, finely dressed and painted, her robes the softest silk.
Even though the river was not higher than a man's waist, her elaborate and heavy garb made it impossible for her to cross without being weighed down and swept away. This was evident immediately upon seeing her.
The elder monk bowed to her, offered his help, and bent his back. She climbed atop his shoulders, and he carried her across the river and deposited her on the other side. Bowing again, he resumed his path.
The two monks continued their trek for many miles, and the younger monk seethed and simmered with barely tamped frustration. Finally, he could take no more and he burst forth.
"You have broken some of our most sacred vows! You have spoken to a woman! Worse yet, you have touched her! And more horrible still, she was a woman of ill repute. All things forbidden to us. How can you have done these things and walk beside me in silence and contentment? What have you to say for yourself?"
The older monk did not pause in his stride, as he replied, "You speak of the courtesan we met many miles ago. I put her down by the riverside. When, brother, will you put her down?"
Secondly, for some reason I have a stack of printed poems that came in a book shipment the other day. Those who know me have already seen this one, but I do love it so. It's perfectly funny and horrifically true. That those traits somehow exist together is wonderful.
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