A professor of mine once paused, interrupting his lecture on Descartes' orders of reality, remarking, "I have had the strangest dreams lately." Puzzled, but inquisitive, the students began to listen as he continued, "Each night I have met a philosopher, in the same open field, under the same orange sun. Each night they tell to me the ideas that guide their thoughts, laying the foundation for their philosophy. After listening, I would lean in closely and mumble to them, in response to which they would step back disillusioned, thinking 'I must start from scratch, my proofs mean nothing'."

One inquisitive student asked, "What did you tell them?" ...

A story I heard tonight for the first time since living in Udon Thani, a story I was told most nights before collapsing under the hot-tin roof.

"A zen monk, just up the road, lived in a house of 3 walls, to always see the moon. One evening, whilst he was away, a thief sneaked into the walls, only to find there was nothing to steal. The zen master returned home and found him. 'You have come a long way to visit me,' he told the prowler, 'and you should not return empty handed. Please take my clothes as a gift.' The thief was bewildered, but he took the clothes and ran away. The Master sat naked, watching the moon. 'Poor fellow,' he mused, 'I wish I could give him this beautiful...