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The
old monk sat by the side of the road. With his eyes closed,
his legs crossed and his hands folded in his lap, he sat.
In deep meditation, he sat.
Suddenly his zazen was interrupted by the harsh and demanding
voice of a samurai warrior. "Old man! Can you teach
me about heaven and hell!"
At first, as though he had not heard, there was no perceptible
response from the monk. But gradually he began to open his
eyes, the faintest hint of a smile playing around the corners
of his mouth as the samurai stood there, waiting impatiently,
growing more and more agitated with each passing second.
"You wish to know the secrets of heaven and hell?"
replied the monk at last. "You who are so unkempt.
You whose hands and feet are covered with dirt. You whose
hair is uncombed, whose breath is foul, whose sword is all
rusty and neglected. You who are ugly and whose mother dresses
you funny. You would ask me of heaven and hell?"
The samurai uttered a vile curse. He drew his sword and
raised it high above his head. His face turned to crimson
and the veins on his neck stood out in bold relief as he
prepared to sever the monk's head from its shoulders.
"That is hell," said the old monk gently, just
as the sword began its descent.
In that fraction of a second, the samurai was overcome with
amazement, awe, recognition and compassion for this gentle
being who had dared to risk his very life to give him such
a teaching. He stopped his sword in mid-flight and his eyes
filled with grateful tears.
"And that," said the monk, "is heaven."
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