Sharing Tea With A Monk

I tell you there are pieces of heaven that fall to earth. They become teashops in Hong Kong. In one such place, I met a monk. We shared a pot of pu-er and poetry. Suddenly, he stood with a start. “I must go,” he said. “I must confess my sins to the abbot.” I asked,” Is your abbot a man, like us?” He said, “Of course.” I pushed a spittoon close to his chair. “Confess into this,” I said. “It is without sin and much purer inside.” We laughed until we ached. We stayed in heaven and watched the moon rise above Tai Mo Shan.