“I think I’m getting old.” Rev. Clovis Jones said shaking his head. “I seem to find an argument with everything these days. Little noises in the library throw me off. I keep criticizing my daughter for little things I did when I was a teenager, even when I wake up promising myself I won’t. The other day I got mad at the cicadas for making so much noise when I was trying to sleep. The more I try to control the things around me, the crazier I get.”
Texas Buddha smiled in recognition of the all too human trait. “I once heard of a woman who had jaundice. Everything she looked at appeared yellow. She washed her sheets over and over. She washed her plates for hours. She scrubbed her teeth until her gums bleed. Nothing she did could get the yellow out until she cured her own sickness.”
“And the moral is?” Rev. Jones asked, already suspecting the answer.
“We cannot stop the disturbances all around us, until we quiet the disturbance coming from within.”
TB took a pad and wrote, “Do not disturb.”
“Here,” he said, “hang this on your soul.”
The good Reverend laughed and put the note in his pocket.