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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?”
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