Two monks were on a pilgrimage when they came to the ford of a river in flood. There, on the bank, they saw a girl dressed in all her finery. She was deeply distressed because crossing the river in high water would spoil all her clothes. The elder monk bent down, motioned her onto his back, carried her safely across the torrent, and set her down on the far shore. Then the monks continued their own way on foot. At once, the younger monk started to complain: “Surely it is not right to even touch a young woman. It is against all our commandments. How can you go against our rules?” This went on and on. Having endured this for several miles, the old monk finally said: “I carefully followed the commandments. I set her down on the riverbank. Why are you still carrying her?”

From James H. Austin’s Zen and the Brain, Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press, 1999 (first published in 1998), p. 525.

Addendum (November 15, 2012)

This is a story I often repeat to my beloved, who goes on and on about the women in my life. And my Residua is the riverbank from the story. I was thus amazed to stumble upon it in Austin’s book just before I went to sleep last night, for she is coming to Motovun this afternoon. The story is surely a joke on the two of us. And on my insistence upon writing and publishing everything that crosses my mind. I can only hope the two monks will not come up once again the next few days. Or ever again, for that matter. Since I have vowed that my beloved is my last woman, it is about time, too.