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! 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, 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.