THE MASTER

The master opened his laptop. Many of his fellow towns people thought he was opposed to modernity. They found it unfathomable that someone would live without an automobile. "How do you get back and forth to work with no car?" "I don't work," he would reply. He did work, but his pupils came to him. The master was blessed with few materialistic desires. He hadn't been converted to this belief. He had learned it watching others work themselves to the bone in order to buy "stuff" as people qualified these purchases. The master was not a rich man, but the money he needed he preferred spending on a good pair of sandals or a good cup of tea. He wasn't against modern conveniences. If someone stopped to give him a ride, he gladly accepted. The master punched in 101 Zen Stories on the keyboard. These writings were a classic collection of Zen insights and observations. The master felt a weight had been lifted from his psyche when he read, ...

Who says that all St. Joe girls want to be nuns? Four graduates from many years ago gathered for pizza with extra salami at Gio's when Yolanda suddenly shocked her companions when she spat, "I want a big dick!" Her former classmates--Rosa, Dalila and Melinda, all in their mid-forties--looked at each other dumbfounded as if they had been struck by lightning. Their hair literally stood on end when Yolanda burst a second time, "I want a big dick!" There was both anger and frustration in her voice. Her three friends took sips from their glasses of wine before Rosa summoned the courage to break the ice by asking, "Will a little dick do?" The quartet tittered nervously. All of them were single mothers with children in high school and college. They had come from privileged backgrounds and were fortunate to have professional ex-spouses who were meeting their obligations to their offspring both financially and emotionally. None of the four ...

The master wandered around the plaza. For him, every day was the same. He never celebrated his birthday. Sometimes he had to think twice to remember the exact day. Since he was anti-materialistic by nature and not by calling, he wasn't fond of gift giving. But he wasn't a party-pooper either. Other people's happiness filled him with happiness also. It was the holiday season. The faces of the children emanated excitement. People greeted each other warmly, but there was a subtle preoccupation in the countenances of the adults. Maybe it was the memories of more innocent times. He had rested his weary bones on a bench when the man known to his townfolk as the writer joined him. He wrote a column in the daily with which most the community began their day. His political commentary often decided elections and issues. But he also had a creative side. He liked to mix reality with fiction to create the scenario and characters he needed in order to communicate his message. He...

The master was celebrating his 70th birthday. It was neither here nor there for him. He had risen earlier than usual. He drank several glasses of water and embarked on a long walk that took him along several streams, through wooden areas, past fields of corn interspersed by stretches of green and finally over a knoll that dropped down onto the monastery's grounds. He ate a large bowl of chicken soup filled with vegetables. He drank several more glasses of water and retired to the garden where he sheltered himself under a large hat. He wasn't sure about the knowledge that he had gained from several decades on this orb except that he had been lucky. He had been blessed with loving parents, a strong body, a good education and a healthy curiosity. A smile creased his still youthful face as he quietly sang "Happy Birthday" to himself.

I was wandering through the woods in late fall admiring the trees adorned in their many colors when a blue norther surprised me. I sought refuge behind a huge trunk as the cold wind swept the land. I huddled in self-protection. I thought the skies had opened also, but when I opened my eyes, leaves and not rain were showering me. For two hours I didn't move until the wind slackened. I rose and looked around me. I was stunned by the change in the panorama. Nothing but bare branches hung over me. I pulled my coat closer. Soon an Arctic zephyr would sweep my world, reducing me to little more than skin and bones.

The master received news that someone was waiting to talk to him in garden. It was a young widow. Her husband had recently passed. He embraced her. "I'm sorry," he said. "He was a good man, but he drank too much and it finally killed him." The master nodded his head sympathetically. "Everyone loved him and he treated everyone with great affection," she continued. "I don't think I can ever love another man. His children, his family and his friends loved him. But I would tell him that he loved drinking more than any of us. I wish things could have been different." "Don't destroy yourself drowning in negatives," counseled the master. "I would occasionally pass him on the road when he was returning from a tavern. Alcohol put him in good spirits. Maybe if it hadn't been for his drinking, he wouldn't have been capable of so much love."

The master rested on a bench in the park. The fountain attracted youngsters who ran their hands through the water. One of his ex-students, now an adult, took a place next to him. "How are you, O Venerable One?" he inquired. "I am fine, but by your expression I can discern that you are troubled. What is the problem?" "I find myself in a dilemma. I love two beautiful and intelligent women and they love me." "I congratulate you on your surfeit of riches, my son." "But I know that I can't have both. What can I do?" "If I showed you a ripe apple and a juicy orange and asked you to choose one, would you savor the fruit you were eating or would you be craving for the fruit you had rejected?" "I would savor the fruit I was eating." "Then pick and relish."

The master gazed toward the horizon from the window in his cell. In the distance he could see the spires that overlooked the plaza. On foot from the monastery it was an hour journey to the city's center. On his table was a glass, an uncorked bottle of wine and a plate of salami, cheese and crackers. The sun was disappearing behind the mountains. Three hours later a full moon filled the sky. The bottle was empty. The plate was empty. The master asked himself: "Have I attained a temporary state of nirvana or am I slightly inebriated?" He relished the passing euphoria. "Not every question has an answer," he thought to himself. "And not every question requires an answer."

The master walked to the edge of town where the Circus Olympia was erecting its big tent. The circus had been coming to the master's town for decades. Through the years the master had become friendly with many of the performers and their descendants who had replaced their parents in the various acts. The lion tamer was snapping his whip as he smoked a cigarette. The master approached the cages that held the lions and tigers. He noticed that the animals were undernourished. Their ribs protruded from their flanks although when they yawned, their teeth were as sharp as ever. A few months later he was perusing the newspaper when he read this headline: TIGER DECAPITATES LION TAMER'S HEAD. The story related the tragedy that the lion tamer for the Circus Olympia had stuck his head inside the tiger's mouth and the cat had bitten it off. The master shook his head. He wished now that he had passed along his father's advice to the lion tamer when he had last seen him:...

The master was a light-hearted soul. "Did you hear about the comedian whose autobiography was released after his death?" asked the master. "No, I didn't," answered the friend." "The critics are saying that it was published post-humorously," chuckled the master.

The master barked: "Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof!" The people gathered around him exchanged perplexed looks. The master continued: "Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof!" The people began to murmur among themselves: "Has the Venerable One gone crazy?" "Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof!"" "Why are barking, O Venerable One? We are not dogs." "I know my brothers and sisters. Forgive me, but I was speaking a truth that only dogs could understand. We should never underestimate the intelligence of our fellow animals."

The master sat in the park and watched the children play. "Does it make you sad that you have elected a calling that precludes children?" asked a young woman. "Not at all," said the master. "A child should never have children." "But you are no longer a child, O Venerable One." "You are wrong," my sister. "I was born a child and I will die a child."

Congressional incumbent Vicente Gonzalez spoke to a multitude. He had no fish nor bread. He could only feed them with words. "We are only capable of the truth when we are no longer capable of the behavior that precipitated the lie," he said before waving good-bye.

I was walking through Sabal Palms sanctuary when I felt something soft hit my head. I ran my hand through my hair only to discover that something had defecated on me. I peered into a tree and scoured the branches. A crow was perched on a limb. He defecated again on my head. "I hope you feel better," I said. The crow flapped its wings and flew away.

The master walked alongside the field. Two laborers were lying on their backs. "Why aren't you working? "We don't like working." "Then don't work." "Then we won't be able to eat." "Then don't eat." The two laborers looked at each other. They rose, returned to the fields and worked until sundown.

The master was strolling along the beach when he saw a monk sitting in the sand staring at the sun. "Be careful, brother, or the sun will blind you." "I am blind." "I am sorry," said the master. "Why are you sorry for me," replied the monk. "I feel sorry for you." "Why?" asked the master. "Because I can see things you can't."

The master was walking alone when he spotted a man lying in the grass next to the path. He was dead. "How are you?" asked the master who often had long conversations with rocks and trees. The dead man didn't answer. The master bent over and closed the man's eyes. "Sleep well, my friend."

The master was shopping for vegetables at the market when a vendor asked him, " O Venerable One, what are you going to prepare with your purchases?" "I am cooking a stew for my fellow communicants." "But doesn't a stew require meat?" The master extracted a bunch of carrots and said, "Here is my meat?" "That isn't meat," asserted the vendor. "Do you see with my eyes?" asked the master. "Do you smell with my nose? Do you taste with my mouth?" "No." He next pulled a tomato from his basket. "This makes a wonderful roast," chuckled the master.

The master entered the cathedral. When he left, a priest was waiting for him outside the vestibule. "I know that you are not a Catholic, O Venerable One, but I noticed that you blessed yourself after you had dipped your fingers in holy water, that you genuflected in front of the altar, that you lit a candle at the foot of the statue of St. Jude Thaddeus and that you knelt in a pew and opened a bible. What were you reading? "I was reading the Psalms?" "Why?" asked the befuddled father. "Why not?" answered the master.

The master took his stick and swatted the student across the head. "Why did you hit me, O Venerable One?" "Because you aren't listening," replied the master. He took his stick and swatted the student a second time. "Why did you hit me again, O Venerable One?" "Because you are not listening," repeated the master. He took his stick and swatted the student yet a third time. The student said nothing. The master placed his stick against a wall and the lesson continued.