Friday, April 18, 2008

The Tale of Gandhi and the Spoon

I haven't been to church in ages. It wasn't fair to the members of my former congregation. They shouldn't have to choose between me and their God.

Ever since I left the church, I've been really interested in becoming a Buddhist. My parents said they thought I wasn't capable of giving up material desires. Little do they know of my struggles at the ward. My room was specifically ridden of all reflective surfaces. To my great fortune, the food lady once accidentally gave me a metal spoon with my lunch instead of the mandated plastic ones.

That spoon helped me get through all the tough times in my cell.

When the season of Lent began, the ward's minister asked me what I was going to give up for Jesus. Naturally I couldn't tell him without the risk of loosing my spoon. I told him I wouldn't daydream about lying naked on the beach.

That night, guilt ran over me like that time my smokin' hot ex-girlfriend caught me shopping at Wal*Mart. I decided to not look at my spoon the next day; by the end of which, I began to understand what Gandhi felt like when he gave up food and resisted his desire to hit people.

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