“I wish to be a monk!” She says wiping tears from her soggy face. “I wish to live in quiet, to have real faith, to feel the depth of my soul and to be detached from society and all of its materialism.”
“And how might you survive?” He asks her, fed up with her bitching, “How might you detach your self from your ungodliness, your worldly treasures, your personal friendships, your negativity? How you do truly love to sulk!”
She begins with a brief pause, “How might one rid themselves of cancer? How might one rid themselves of a burdening family member? Or the world of poverty and starvation?”
“You are completely ridiculous,” He yells, “Do you hear yourself?! You are not starving, or dying. You are not poor or stricken with a burden. You…” he continues, “…are alive! While others do not have that privilege. You are well fed and capable of achieving many remarkable things. Your true issue is yourself. You have no depth, no real compassion. You have lost your place in this world and have fallen waiting for someone to hand you a crutch. You are not driven. You are your worst enemy.”
“Why then, do you love me so?” She asks with intent to grab a slight pinch of acknowledgement for their love. A feat he had not taken in what felt like weeks to her.
“Because you wrote this dialogue.” Answering her question, “You wish to be a monk, but you know what truly ails your heart. You did not need for me to say it to you. You know the truth. However, I do wish you a monk. I wish you the blind prosperity of simplicity for a thousand years that if given the opportunity to have, would not be accepted, for the simple face that you could not love with this depth in the way we have, because I know this truth. I wish you the experience of that enlightenment first hand, and not just the idea of it, but this, I’m afraid, will have to do, my sweet.”