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101 ZEN STORIES...

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, "This website has been reported unsafe."

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LANGUAGES...

The master spent long hours learning many languages, yet he never traveled to foreign countries. In fact, he seldom strayed outside his village except to wander through the countryside. His ardor for languages mystified his disciples. The master was ambling through the corridors when one of his disciples found the courage to stop him and ask: "O Venerable One, forgive me for my impertinence, but why do you learn these languages, yet you never talk to anyone in these foreign tongues? "You are wrong, my son." "Then with whom do you speak, O Venerable One?" "I converse with myself, my son."

WRITING...

The master spent a part of each day writing. He would reread his words, then close his notebook. "What do you write about?" asked a monk. "I write about you," answered the master. "Me? What do you write about me?" "Nothing." "Nothing?" "Nothing." "And when you write about yourself, what do you write?" "Nothing." "Nothing?" "Nothing." The master embraced the monk. They shared much in common."

THE EXECUTIONER...

The master watched the soccer game from the sidelines. He had learned to walk and kick a ball at the same time. He was a capable midfielder in his prime. He understood the art of sharing the ball. Offensive players wanted him on their team because he evenly distributed the ball and had an innate skill to make the perfect pass at the most opportune moment. In his youth nobody electrified the crowd like The Executioner. He was a swift athlete who could dribble and shoot with both feet. He earned his nickname because he never pardoned a goalie by squandering a scoring chance. It had been several months since the master had seen The Executioner. He was old and hobbled by age, but he never failed to take his evening walk even though each step he took hardly evoked the legend he once was. "Don't you miss those days, Executioner, when nobody was your equal on the pitch?" the master asked his enfeebled idol after crossing his path by chance. "I have been ins...