  Comedy
This week: Koan-y Island Edited by: Robert Waltz  
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The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.
-Socrates |
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It's only recently that I discovered that being wise and being a wise guy are two very different things. I'm pretty good at the latter, but for the former, I climbed a local mountain in search of wisdom.
The hermit at the top watched me approach.
"You don't have a beard," I said.
"You are very observant, Seeker," he said. "Tell me, do you visit my lonely abode to gain wisdom?"
"Sure," I replied. Then, "Why don't you have a beard?"
The Teacher sighed and rolled his eyes. "I tried that once. It made me look like Charles Manson."
"And?"
"And do you know anyone who would take advice from a guy who looks like Charles Manson?"
"Eh... no, probably not."
"Sit down," he ordered. The Teacher was sitting in the lotus position. I tried to emulate him, but I don't bend that way, so I stretched my legs out and leaned back on my palms. Then, "Close your eyes," he prompted.
I squinted at him. "How do I know you won't throw something at me while my eyes are closed?"
"You don't," he noted. "Now, do you want to gain wisdom or not?"
"Fine," I replied, closing my eyes.
"Good. Now, concentrate on my voice. Shut out everything else."
"We're on the top of a mountain," I said. "There is nothing else."
"Concentrate," he repeated. "Breathe deep. In. Out. In. Out. Keep breathing."
"Um, I always breathe," I told him.
He ignored me. "Silence the voice within. And the one talking to me. Now, meditate on this: If a tree falls in the forest, and there's no one around to hear it, does it make a sound?"
"Well, sure," I replied. "Sound is a wave propagating through a medium such as air. If there's a forest, there's air. If a tree falls, it makes waves propagating through the air. That's completely independent of the presence of ears. Duh."
"You know much, but you understand nothing," he said. "Leave me."
So I left, but after a few days, something about our conversation was still bothering me, so I climbed the mountain again.
"Hey," I said.
"You again."
"Why do you care if you scare people away by looking like Charles Manson? Aren't you a hermit?"
"Sometimes, Seekers bring me beer. Beer is a good thing. Did you bring me any beer?"
"Sorry, no."
He sighed. "Then go away."
"But I still seek wisdom," I protested.
"Very well, we can try again. Sit down. Close your eyes. Breathe. Now. Which came first, the chicken or the egg?"
"Well, the egg of course," I replied. "See, chickens evolved from something else. Something like a velociraptor. Over the generations, new velociraptors began to look and act more like chickens than velociraptors. Some proto-chicken laid an egg, and a chicken got hatched from it. Therefore, egg."
"You know much, but you understand nothing. Begone."
I bewent, but after a few days, something was still bugging me about our conversation, so I headed back up the mountain. This time, I brought a growler full of kickin' microbrew.
"You again," said the Teacher. "Go away."
I brandished the growler. "I brought beer," I said.
His eyes narrowed. "What kind of beer?"
"It's an English-style brown ale, brewed with the finest Olympia hops."
"Gimme," he said.
So I did, and he drank half of it without taking a breath.
"Breathe," I reminded him.
He put the growler down and wiped his lips. "That's my line," he said.
I remembered what had been bugging me. "How do you shave up here? There's no sink. For that matter, how do you eat?"
He stared at me, picked up the growler, and finished it off, never breaking eye contact. A growler, for those benighted souls uninitiated into the Circle of Beer, is about two liters.
I sat down, forcing my legs to cross. It hurt. He put the empty growler down. Then he shook his head. "Fine. We'll try this one more time. Close your eyes. Breathe. Now... what is the sound of one hand clapping?"
"What? That question doesn't even make sense. Clapping is, by definition, two hands hitt-"
And that is when I finally gained wisdom. The sound of one hand clapping, as it turns out, somewhat resembles the sound of two hands clapping.
But it precisely resembles the sound of a hand hitting a cheek. |
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Last time, in "Laughing Gas" , I wrote about trips to the dentist.
Clearly, everyone was so overwhelmed by my clever wit that they dissolved into paroxysms of laughter rather than leaving comments.
See you next month! Until then,
LAUGH ON!!! |
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Comedy: May 31, 2017 Issue [#8311]
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