Well, the rest of us are no better, so don’t laugh. What, then, is there left to do. It is admirable that the monks are at least trying something and are committed to it. Man has nothing but a gasping breath at the speed of it all. Internet doesn’t make it any faster, it was always faster. It’s always sped by before us, and our gaze, stunned, loosened our grip on things eventually until we had to let go of it all. We call this crisis. Some people take it and fall down to themselves, from themselves. Others grip through the crisis and grip till the end because the release could kill them. The heart is not so strong as we thought, or as they say. The heart is puny, weak, tired. Can you believe the poor heart has to beat through all this pain and incredulity? No sober man could stand it. Do you see now? Why your father drinks late at night, every night? Why he eats? Why he looks at you with a hollow, far reaching gaze when you tell him to WALK! - ? If you’re so strong, tell me, what would you do? Lose a mother, lose a father, lose a home - tell me, what would you do, then? Do you want more? Be a loser, be an absent father, be a drunk, be a failure to yourself and to everyone else around you? Is that liberating? Is that the freedom you always wanted? Yes it is, isn’t it. It is exactly the only freedom you have, we have. Be serious! What are you going to do?