Two men were playing golf one morning, but could not play as quickly as they wanted because there were two women playing the hole ahead of them who were moving too slowly.
Finally, out of their frustration, one of the men began walking towards the women to ask them to stop gossiping so much and to play golf, or to please get out of the men’s way.
He got within a hundred feet of the women and all of a sudden stopped, turned around and ran back to his friend.
“You’d better go,” he said. “One of them is my wife and the other is my mistress.”
So the second man started walking towards the women. He got within a hundred and fifty feet of the ladies, and he too turned around and ran the other way. He got back to his friend and said, “Small world!”
The third question:
Jewish religion, like Zen, is based only on the formless and doesn’t permit the worship of forms. But ever since I have been in India these last eight years, I’ve moved away from this idea and have fallen in deep love not only with your form, but also with Hindu religion, its multitude of mythological figures and the stories around them – Ram, Krishna, Shiva, etc. I love keeping my room decorated with pictures of your form and of all these as well, and immersing myself in the feeling of being surrounded by an Indian mythological world of gods and goddesses, though intellectually I know the illusion of it.
I also love form by way of the Indian trees, skies and nature, as well as the Indian people – in general and in particular – and I seem to come alive here in India in a great heart-throbbing dance of joy as I never could feel living in the West.
My head knows the truth of the concept of the formless and of the idea of “killing the buddha,” but my heart is absolutely immersed in the love and worship of form. I even have no desire for enlightenment any more and would rather love Buddha than become him, in these my own ways.
Does this mean I am stuck somewhere and need you to be a Totapuri to cut my forehead, or is it okay for me to remain in my present ecstatic, heart-throbbing world?