Greg Feely: I don't care; you took everything I had. And I wanted an explanation. Wanted it all to make sense but it's just shit. [Greg picks up some horrible filth] What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do with this?
Mother Dirt: Spread it on your flowers, Greg.
A monk once asked Ummon, "What is the Buddha?" Ummon answered thus: "A dried shit-stick!" (Note: A 'dry shit stick' was the medieval equivalent of toilet paper. Hence Yunmen's reply is sometimes translated as "Something to wipe your arse on!"
You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book...or you take a trip...and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernation are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure.
That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children.
And then some chock treatment takes place--a person, a book, a song--and it awakens them and saves them from death.
Some never awaken.
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