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 and demanding voice of a samurai warrior. "Old man! Teach me about meditation, he sat. Suddenly his zazen was interrupted by the harsh heaven and hell!"
Response from the monk. But gradually he began to open his eyes, At first, as though he had not heard, there was no perceptible faintest hint of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth as heaven and hell?" replied the monk at last. "You who are so unkempt. The samurai stood there, waiting impatiently, growing more and more agitated with each passing second. "You wish to know the secrets of would ask me of heaven and hell?"
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 stood out in bold relief as he prepared to sever the monk's head from
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 its shoulders.
"That is hell," said the old monk gently, just as the sword began its descent.
"And that," said the monk, "is heaven."
In that fraction of a second, the samurai was overcome with amazement, awe, compassion and love 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.
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