A monk toiled away for decades in isolation in an ice-bound Himalayan monastery, shivering through the mountain seasons in threadbare blankets and thin orange robes.
He was allowed only small bits of boiled vegetables with cold rice every day year upon year, this to sustain his body’s basic needs while devoting his entire mind to his assigned studies of the higher planes of existence.
He was instructed by his abbot that his only task in this life was to search for the infinite source of all knowledge.
The monk bore down with his considerable intellect and his solidity of purpose until one day he finally felt the end coming, a light was glowing in the darkness of his existence, and sure enough as he woke from his night’s sleep, he suddenly felt that his life was complete, and that he knew everything.
He ran from his chilled cell into the stony echoing corridors of the sacred complex, and was sprinting down the abbey’s central hall toward his master’s quarters when he chanced upon another monk, and slid to a halt just in front of him, breathless from both his knowledge and the run he was making to impart that revelation.
The other monk also stopped, looked into the enlightened philosopher’s eyes and said: “Hey aren’t you the guy who knows everything?”