Don't Worry, Be Grumpy

  In the good old days when Australian airports had a “green channel” through which you could just walk out of the airport, an Australian traveler was stopped at random. When the customs officers opened his suitcase, they found two bottles of undeclared whiskey hidden under the jackets and trousers.

  “What are these?” asked an officer.

  “I am a religious man,” said the traveler thinking quickly. “I have just returned from a pilgrimage to the holy site of Lourdes in France. This is only holy water.”

  “Hmm,” replied the customs officer, “then why does it say Johnny Walker on the label?”

  “I had to carry the holy water in something. These were two empty bottles that I used, okay? Can I go now?”

  The suspicious customs officer decided to open one of the bottles to test it. He held it up to his nose and declared, “This isn’t holy water. It’s whiskey! Smell it for yourself.”

  The traveler put the bottle to his nose, took a whiff, and exclaimed, “My God! You are right. It must be another miracle. Hallelujah!”

  And from that time on, maybe, holy water became an item that people were prohibited from bringing in to Australia.

  40. The Dangers of Driving Drunk

  Buddhist monks are not allowed to turn water into wine, which may be why there are more Christians than Buddhists in Australia.

  Many years ago, a man in Sydney decided to drive home after an office party where he had had too many beers. He reckoned there was a very good chance he wouldn’t get caught.

  That evening however, the Sydney police had established a roadblock on a popular route to check the alcohol level of every driver. As luck would have it, the roadblock was on this man’s way home, and seeing the roadblock up ahead, he realized he was trapped. There was no way out.

  He pulled over, waiting in line to be tested, and he resigned himself to being heavily fined, or maybe even losing his driver’s license. All he could do was to wait for the inevitable misery and humiliation. He felt the darkness of doom about to swallow him, and he sat glumly, cursing his bad luck.

  When it got to his turn for testing, the officer asked him to step out of his car and handed him a breathalyzer to blow into.

  He took the machine and was about to blow into it, when just at that moment, there was a loud CRASH! A vehicle pulling over at the roadblock had slowed down suddenly at the roadblock and had been rear-ended by the car behind. The officer took back the device, saying, “I have to attend to this accident. Get back in your car and go home.”

  Stunned and in disbelief, he spun around, stumbled into the driver’s seat, put his foot on the pedal, and made a swift exit, singing to himself all the way home.

  The following morning, he awoke to the sound of his doorbell. As he crawled out of bed to dress, he held his throbbing head, for he had a terrible hangover from all the partying the night before. A few minutes later, after stumbling down the stairs, he opened his front door to see two large Sydney policemen standing outside.

  He was alarmed at first, but then he thought, “They can’t arrest me now. I’m not driving.”

  “Good morning, officers,” he said, collecting himself. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “Good morning, sir. Would you mind if we took a look inside your garage?”

  He thought for a moment. He had nothing to hide. So what the hell?

  “Of course,” he replied with a smile. “I always like to be of assistance to our local police force. Come with me.” And he strode confidently toward the garage.

  But when he opened the garage door, his face went white, his lips began to quiver, and his eyes bulged so far they almost came out of their sockets. For inside his garage . . . there was a police car! He’d driven the wrong car home!

  Such are the dangers of drunk driving.

  41. Holy Shit

  People today assume that life has changed so much since ancient times. However, looking through some of the old stories of Buddhist monks and nuns misbehaving 2,500 years ago in India, it is clear that some things never change.

  In a nuns’ monastery in the time of the Buddha, long before the days of sewage pipes, it was one nun’s job to empty out the buckets that collected the feces and other waste from the monastery toilets. Early one morning, instead of disposing of the waste in the designated spot, the negligent nun threw the excrement over the monastery wall.

  As it happened, a well-dressed businessman on his way to the palace to meet the king was walking on the other side of the wall that morning. Whatever that man was thinking soon changed when a bucket of shit fell on his head.

  He was upset. He was incensed. He was infuriated.

  Knowing where the bucket of filth had come from, he shouted, “Those aren’t real nuns! They’re just old crones and hookers! I’ll burn their monastery down!”

  Taking up one of the flaming torches used to light the street in early morning, he strode into the nuns monastery, cursing and screaming, with excrement all over his head.

  A devout lay Buddhist saw that enraged man approaching and calmly inquired what had happened. Having been told that a bucket of filth had been thrown over him by one of those @#*%! nuns, the lay Buddhist exclaimed: “Awesome! You are so lucky! To receive a personal blessing from a holy nun in such a unique way is mega auspicious.”

  “Really?” said the gullible businessman.

  “Absolutely! Now go home, shower, and get changed, then go to the palace. Something wonderful will happen to you today.”

  The businessman rushed back home, having no time to spare to burn down the nun’s monastery, washed, changed, and went to the palace. That morning, the king gave the businessman a very lucrative government contract.

  The delighted businessman told all his friends, “If you want real good luck in your business, ask the holy nuns for the most auspicious of all blessings—holy shit. It worked for me!”

  When the Buddha heard this story doing the rounds, he admonished the nuns. He told them that they were extremely lucky that day to have a quick-thinking layperson who convinced that superstitious businessman that having filth poured over your head is auspicious. Some people will believe anything.

  As a result, the Buddha established a monastic rule for the nuns. For the past 2,500 years, the eighth rule for Buddhist nuns in the section called Pacittiya is: “A nun must not throw shit over the monastery wall.”

  42. The Origin of Materialism

  A good nun lived a very simple life, with few possessions and dwelling in a cave. Every morning, she would take her alms bowl to the nearby village to collect just enough food for her one meal of the day. She had plenty of time to meditate, study, and teach what she knew to any of the local villagers.

  When she returned from almsround one morning, she noticed a hole in her spare robe, so she found a small piece of cloth and hand sewed a patch onto the robe. She’d done this before. You see, in her cave lived a family of mice, and they liked nibbling her robes. While sewing, she thought that if she had a cat, then there would be no mice, and she wouldn’t have to spend so much time sewing patches. So the next day, she asked the villagers for a cat, and they gave her a well-behaved brown cat whose color matched her robes.

  The cat needed milk and fish, so the nun had to ask the villagers for these extra items every morning. One morning, she thought that if she had her own cow, then she wouldn’t need to keep asking for milk to feed the cat to keep away the mice that chewed her robes. So she asked one of her wealthy supporters for a cow.

  Once the nun had a cow, she had to get grass for the cow to eat. So she begged the villagers for grass to feed her cow to provide milk for the cat to keep away the mice that chewed her robes.

  After a few days, the nun thought that if she had her own field, then she would not need to harass the poor villagers for grass every day. So she arranged for a collection to be made to buy a nearby pasture to provide grass for her cow to provide milk for the cat to keep away the mice that chewed her robes.

  It
was a lot of work looking after the pasture, catching the cow every morning and milking it, so she thought that it would be helpful to have a boy, a young attendant who could do all these chores for her. In return, the nun would give him moral guidance and teachings. The villagers selected a boy from a poor family in dire need of some moral guidance. Now she had a boy to look after the pasture to provide grass for her cow to provide milk for the cat to keep away the mice that chewed her robes.

  Now the nun needed to collect more than twice as much food every morning, because young boys eat a lot. Moreover, she needed a small hut nearby for the boy to sleep in, because it was against the rules for the boy to sleep in the cave with a nun. So she asked the villagers to build a hut for her boy who looked after the pasture to provide grass for her cow to provide milk for the cat to keep away the mice that chewed her robes.

  By this time, she began to notice the villagers avoiding her. They were afraid that she was going to ask them for something more. Even when they saw a brown cow approaching in the distance, thinking it was the nun, they would run away or hide in their houses with the door securely bolted and the curtains drawn over the windows.

  When a villager did come to ask her some questions on meditation, she said, “Sorry. Not now. I’m too busy. I have to check the hut being built for the boy who looks after my field to graze my cow that provides the milk for my brown cat that keeps away the mice so that I don’t need to keep patching my robe.”

  She noticed what she was saying and realized: “Such is the origin of materialism.”

  She then told the villagers to dismantle the hut, sent the boy back to his family, gave away the cow and the field, and found a good home for her cat.

  A few days later, she had returned to her simple life, with few possessions and dwelling in a cave. After returning one morning from the village with just enough alms food for her one meal of the day, she noticed that a mouse had chewed another hole in her robe.

  With a quiet smile, she sewed on another patch.

  43. Kit-Cat

  This is a true story of a remarkable cat that lived in Bodhinyana Monastery, sixty-five kilometers south of Perth, where I live.

  Kit-Cat was born in my monastery, her mother being a feral cat that lived in the adjacent state forest. We discovered her as an abandoned and hungry little kitten, sheltering in a hollow log.

  As Kit-Cat grew, she started to catch small birds. We tried hanging a bell around her neck, but this only succeeded in training her to move with more stealth, so the bell made no sound. Although the monks loved little Kit-Cat, she was catching more poor birds, so sadly we realized she had to go. An Australian forest is not the right environment for a domestic cat.

  I found a nice home for Kit-Cat in the oceanside suburb of Watermans Bay to the north of Perth. On the day that Kit-Cat left, I picked her up, put her in a sack, and placed her in the back of her new owner’s car, in the place where your feet usually go. I felt guilty doing this to a cat that had trusted me.

  Chris, the new owner, drove the cat straight to her home in Watermans Bay, took the sack inside her house, and only released Kit-Cat after all the doors had been closed. She wanted Kit-Cat to get accustomed to her new family before letting her out into the garden.

  Three days later, on a hot Saturday afternoon, she let Kit-Cat into the garden. Immediately, Kit-Cat ran for the garden gate, and Chris tried to stop her, but the cat was too fast. Kit-Cat leapt over the gate and out into the street. Chris got into her car and drove around the neighborhood looking for Kit-Cat but found no trace. Kit-Cat had disappeared.

  At this point, you are probably thinking that Kit-Cat eventually found her way back home to my monastery, eighty-five kilometers away. If so, you are wrong. Kit-cat was far too smart to walk such a long distance.

  That Saturday I was on teaching duty in our city center located in Nollamara, seventy-eight kilometers north of my monastery and around twelve kilometers southeast of Water-mans Bay. While passing by the thick, closed wooden door of our Perth temple, I heard a strange noise outside. When I opened the door, there was little Kit-Cat looking up at me and mewing. As I cradled her to bring her inside, I noticed that her paws were burning hot. It was over forty degrees Celsius (105º Fahrenheit!) outside that day. I gave her saucer after saucer of milk, she was so dehydrated. Then I let her do what cats do best, curl up and rest.

  Soon after Kit-Cat arrived, I received a phone call from a very apologetic Chris. “I’m so sorry, Ajahn Brahm. I let your cat out and it bolted. I’ve been driving around looking for her for almost two hours. I’m so sorry. Maybe she’ll find her way back to your monastery in Serpentine.”

  “No worries, Chris,” I replied. “Kit-Cat is here with me in Nollamara.”

  I remember Chris gasping. She couldn’t believe it. She later came to check for herself. Kit-Cat had found me in a big city she had never been to before. She had run at least twelve kilometres in just under two hours, crossing a major motorway and other busy roads, with no maps and unable to ask for directions, to the one person who cared for her in a city of over a million.

  Kit-Cat had only left our monastery once, to go to the local vet to be “monasticized” so she wouldn’t have any kittens. She had never been close to the sprawling Perth metropolitan area before; she was a country cat. When she left my monastery, it was in a sack on the floor in the back seat. There was no way she could have seen where she was going. Yet the clever cat found me!

  Of course, after that Kit-Cat came back to my monastery, where she lived many happy years. After twenty-two years of cat life, she died there and is buried under the holy bodhi tree by our main hall.

  44. A Dog’s Retreat

  To be fair to all pets, I now relate a story that was sent to me recently about how a very smart dog dealt with the stress of modern life.

  A woman returning from a shopping trip opened the door of her suburban house. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a big dog rushed past her into her house. By the time the woman had put her bags down, the dog was curled up in a corner of a quiet room, fast asleep. The dog was a Labrador, had a collar on, and was well groomed, so it was certainly not a stray. The kind woman liked dogs, especially this one, so she let it stay. After about two hours, the dog woke up and the woman let it out. The dog then disappeared.

  The next day, the dog returned to her house, and she let it come inside again. The dog went to the same quiet corner, curled up, and went to sleep for another two hours.

  After this same pattern repeated two or three more times, the woman began to wonder where this lovable dog lived and why it kept coming back to her house. So she wrote a note, folded it, and placed it under the Labrador’s collar. The note said something like:

  Your dog has been coming to my house every afternoon for the past five days. All it does is sleep quietly. It is such a lovely, good-natured dog that I don’t mind. I just wonder where it lives and why it keeps coming.

  The next day the dog returned to sleep in its corner, but with another note tucked into the collar. The reply read:

  My dog lives in a noisy house with my nagging wife and four children, two of whom are under five. He comes to your house for some peace and quiet and to catch up on his sleep. May I come too?

  45. An Amazing Tale of the Supernatural

  An Australian man was on a group trek in the foothills of the Himalayas, in the region to the west of Tibet called Ladakh. The scenery was so spectacular that he lingered behind the others taking photo after photo. Thinking to catch up with the rest of the group by taking a shortcut, he unfortunately took a wrong path, lost sight of the others, and became completely lost.

  After wandering in the wilderness without a map for a couple of hours, he became anxious. The sun had set behind the peaks, it was getting darker and colder by the minute, and he was still completely lost. This was getting dangerous.

  In the distance, he saw the faint glow of lights. Walking toward them, he made out an old Buddhist monastery, secluded on the mountain. Approachi
ng, he rapped on the large wooden door framing the entrance to the temple. After some time he heard the shuffle of footsteps, and the door creaked open to reveal a small, frail old monk, the abbot of the monastery.

  The kind abbot listened to his story and invited him to stay the night in his own quarters, the only room in the monastery with a Western-style bed. The compassionate abbot would sleep elsewhere. He knew where the trekkers went and would give him a young monk the following day to guide him back to his trekking group.

  After a simple supper, the exhausted Australian quickly fell asleep in the abbot’s comfortable bed. Just after midnight, he woke up to the sound of the most amazing music he had ever heard. He had attended many concerts at the Sydney Opera House, but never, never had he listened to such a soft yet thrilling melody and felt such bliss. Tears rolled down his cheeks in ecstasy as he lay in bed soaking up every divine note. He did not know when, but the heavenly music took him into the most relaxing deep sleep of his life. He woke up fully rested and content for the first time in many years.

  After breakfast, he went to thank the abbot for lending him his bed. He also told the abbot about the music and asked what it was.

  “Oh, that,” said the abbot.

  “Yes, it was incredible. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

  “That, young man, is something supernatural. According to our monastery rules, I cannot tell you because you are not a monk.”

  The Australian frowned, got out his wallet, and offered the abbot a hundred dollars.

  “No, no.” said the abbot.

  “Okay, how much?” asked the Australian.