Making Sense
A Zen buddhist monk, a Sufi mystic, and a Hindu yogi chanced on each other at a cross roads in the high mountains. They each appraised the others in silent surprise for several moments.
Then the Zen monk, in his brown, sack cloth robe and straw sandals, addressed his fellow travelers. “The sound of one hand clapping brings enlightenment to many.”
The yogi spread his arms wide, and said, “Anyone who knows the true nature of their soul can uplift others to the highest divinity.”
“One has only to dance with God to know the divine,” the Sufi mystic sang out as he spun and his white tennure whirled around him.
The monk closed and opened his eyes languidly. “When I have finished eating, I wash my bowl.”
“Ah, when we eat another living thing, we partake of ourselves,” the yogi declaimed, his hands clasped in serene prayer over his sarong.
The mystic was quick to add, “When I eat the soul of the world, I chew like a camel munches grass.”
The monk pointed to some prayer flags that fluttered on a tree limb. “See how my mind moves to and fro. I can not say if the flag or the wind moves me.”
“Endless bliss and rock steady consciousness are a reflection of the OM.” The yogi was in full lotus position and levitating three feet off the ground when he made this pronouncement.
The mystic stroked his beard, whirled some more, and sang, “Brothers, our laughter squeezes jewels from the sun.”
“We are infinite and part of the cosmic vibration,” the yogi declared, back on solid ground again.
“We must all escape the birdcage of the mind,” the monk intoned as he took a wooden bowl from his robe and began to collect berries from a nearby bush.
“I want to be a toe ring on the foot of the Almighty,” the mystic warbled.
“When I am hungry I eat, when I am tired I sleep,” the monk explained as he ate berries from his bowl.
The yogi pressed his hands together and prayed, “I fast and feast on the universal stream of consciousness, that it may enrich my soul.”
“I let the words of the beloved Creator till the rich soil of my soul. What grows there feeds my consciousness to the brim,” the mystic insisted with a toothless smile.
The three holy men fell silent and once more considered each other for several moments. Then the monk bowed to each of his fellows in turn and said, “My search for the perfect lotus flower continues.”
The yogi laid his hands on each fellow traveler’s head and said, “I love you. May your heart be light. I go to serve mankind.”
“I climb the mountaintop to embrace the stars,” the mystic said and he kissed the monk and the yogi each on the lips.
The three men turned from each other and headed off in different directions.
After the holy men disappeared into the distance, a sparrow and a lizard emerged from behind a shrub. The sparrow turned to the lizard and asked, “What, in the name of all that is holy, was that?”
“Humans are just weird,” the lizard bemoaned.
