Many years ago, an aspirant of the teachings of the ancient masters left his home city of New York on a quest to find the meaning of life. His destination was the mountaintop home of the master Dali Larva. He traveled for many years and suffered great hardships. Seven years he was lost on the islands off the African coast. He trudged across the Arabian Desert eating camel dung and drinking his own urine. In India, he slept with the lepers on the streets of New Delhi.
On the outskirts of Mongolia, he met a man named “One Who Was As He” who pointed to the face of a sheer snow-laden cliff, and said, “Climb that cliff there, and when you reach the top, ask your question of the Dali Larva. He will enlighten your mind and open your soul like a door.”
So the man from New York climbed that mountain face, and suffered many setbacks. At one point so cold and hungry, he ate twigs and beetles to stay alive.
Finally arriving at the top of the mountain, he saw a brown-robed monk with a white mustache.
“Are you the Dali Larva?” asked the New Yorker in reverent tones, now so tired, weak and shivering cold that he barely croaked out the words.
“I am who you seek,” said the monk. “Come inside my cave and ask your question.”
Once inside and nestled by the fire, the New Yorker asked his question. “What is the meaning of life, oh great Dali Larva?”
The Dali Larva nodded, was silent for a moment, and then replied, “A simple man comes home and asks ‘What is for dinner?’ A complicated man comes home and asks, ‘What is the meaning of life?’ The wise man comes home and asks, ‘What is for dinner?’” The monk stretched a self-satisfied smile across his face, sat back against the wall of the cave, closed his eyes, and chanted, “ommmmm.”
A few moments passed as the New Yorker waited for the monk to say more. Then he opened up his mouth and spoke onto him.
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? I ate camel dung and slept with lepers for that?”
The monk nodded and continued to smile serenely.
The New Yorker got up and clocked the monk upside his bald head.
I’ve got your dinner right here,” said the New Yorker, grabbing his frost-bitten crotch and bucking his hips obscenely. Then he rifled through the monk’s pockets and found 47 cents in change, half a Snickers bar, and a Wonder Woman fan club wristwatch.
“Your mother!” screamed the New Yorker as he left the cave and began his descent down the mountain.
In that moment, the monk gained enlightenment.