THE GUN
I saw a monk working alone in the vegetable garden. I squatted down beside him and said, “Brother, what is your dream?” It didn’t seem to bother him that I should ask so personal a question, not even having the courtesy to introduce myself. He just looked straight at me (what a beautiful face he had) and answered, “I would like to become a monk.” “But, Brother, you are a monk, aren’t you?” “I’ve been here twenty-five years, but I still carry my gun.” He drew a revolver from a holster under his robe. It looked so strange, a monk holding a gun. “And they won’t let you become a monk until you give up your gun?” “No, it’s not that. Most of them don’t even know I have it. But I know.” “Well, why don’t you give it up?” “I guess because I’ve had it so long. I’ve been hurt a lot, and I’ve hurt others. I don’t think I could…
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