Teh Story of Me Hoe
An Oirish-Bhuddist Parable
Traslayted boi meself, Shoka

Oi plowed me land with Miho day after day, year after year. 'Twas hard wark, but teh harvest was plentiful. And yet, one day Oi couldna help but ask meself, "Why by all teh varyous saynts am Oi workin' so hard? Loif is beerless an' boring! Where is me loif heading?"

Shartly afterwards, a monk came to me house. Askin' for alms, he war. Teh monk looked shiftless an' happy, which Oi foun' considerably vexin'. Being a monk and living an unencumbered loif seemed loik 'eaven. Aye, 'twas a rare good oidea! Roight cheerfully Oi made up me moind to give up ever' blessed thing an' become a monk.

As soon as Oi left me house, Oi suddenly felt how empty war me hands. Oi was so used to holdin' Miho in me hands that without Miho Oi now felt a wee bit lost. So back Oi went to me house, picked up Miho, and troid 'ard t'think of what Oi could do wit' hersilf. Aye, 'twar fine, war Miho. 'Er shift war smooth and shoiny from daily handlin'. 'Twould be heartbreaking t'thrower away. "Aye, then," Oi thinks, "Oi'll wrap 'er up an' put'er away." Oi found a secure place in teh house t'hoid'er. Now everything was settled. With me moind at ease, Oi left me house at last.

Oi did all Oi cud to fulfill teh requirements t'be a true monk. However, Oi cud hardly resist thinking o' Miho whene'er Oi came across green Paddys. Every now and thin, Oi'd rush back home just to feel Miho and then return to teh charch.

Toim went a-passin' boi. After seven or eight years, Oi felt that somethin' war missing. "Why haven't Oi fulfilled me dream o' becoming a free, happy monk after havin' troid very hard to cultivate me considerable marality? Thar's something Oi haven't had teh hart to let go o'. Now it's toim to get rid o' me barden!" So Oi rushed back 'ome, picked up Miho and threw her into a lake. Splash, thar she wint! "Oi've won! Oi've dunnit!" Oi couldna resist croiyin' aloud.

Just at that moment, a king, leading his band 'o cattle thieves, happened to pass boi. He overhard me croi and stepped up t' ask o' me, "What's with yar caterwaulin' thin", sez he. "F'what did ye win, ye reprobate?" "Oi've conquered teh divils in me hart," sez Oi. "Oi've let all me bardens go."

Teh king saw that Oi war happy an' free from earthly bardens and sich. Teh king thought to himsilf, "Now Oi've kipped teh cattle. Victory is moin. But am Oi as happy as this dirty bog trottin' profligate monk? Sure, 'tis not a thought t'be a-bourn! 'Tis no real vict'ry." Then and there, teh king realized that although he had won teh war, he war no real winner, but a common parson bardened wit' loif's vexations. He realized that in order to become a real winner an' a saint, ye have to conquer teh divils in yer hart.

Apologies an' sich t'Chen Yeng

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