A senior monk and a junior monk were traveling together. At one point, they came to a river with a strong current. As the monks were preparing to cross the river, they saw a very young and beautiful woman also attempting to cross. The young woman asked if they could help her cross to the other side.

The two monks glanced at one another because they had taken vows not to touch a woman.

Then, without a word, the older monk picked up the woman, carried her across the river, placed her gently on the other side, and carried on his 
journey.

The younger monk couldn’t believe what had just happened. After rejoining his companion, he was speechless, and an hour passed without a word between them.

Two more hours passed, then three, finally the younger monk could contain himself any longer, and blurted out “As monks, we are not permitted a woman, how could you then carry that woman on your shoulders?”

The older monk looked at him and replied, “Brother, I set her down on the other side of the river, why are you still carrying her?”

I had coffee and a cigarette for breakfast
So yeah I'm doing fine
I've become good at taking weight off of other peoples shoulders
and
Searching for happiness in everything

Prevaricated Forth Write Declaration!

As most every girl and boy
     taught back in the day,
     or more recently going to Zerns,
     a golden age of story telling,
     when rapt listening ears
     willingly leant eager attention

     to a riveting speaker
     such as this jolly shop
     o' horror keeper learned,
     modest, and non
     establishmentarian obliging self,
     ( who even now doth still yearns)

to spin a tattling tale), this ole codger,
     who today more frequently, keenly,
     and patiently plods along
     memory lane then yesterday
     (along one, whose pathway,
     could be trekked blindfolded

     so often by foot thee trail traversed,
     (yet without ever feeling
     a sense of duff fete) over hills
     and thru woods thick
     with wary, scary,
     and Rem: markably hairy

     muppet like monsters,
     the author, who wrote
10,000 Leagues Under The Sea,
     (and other suspense filled stories namely
     the prolific writer Jules Gabriel Verne's),
vivid imagination,

     would undoubtedly have experienced
     a field day in seventh heaven
     taking wooded rough hewn
     rudimentary walkabout by turns
clear cut versus creepy simply to reach
     a one classroom per grade school,

     where masters did teach
     being apprenticed asper Art Of The Deal
     (latent within power
     to sound convincing, though "FAKE,)"
but convincing legendary
     personal myths repeated to bolster appeal

such as larger then life "Founding Fathers"
unquestionable brazen, brave, and brass
     daring deeds across the Lake
(Atlantic Ocean, whose worsted weave
     sub woofer - did make
the 6:00 o'clock news the evening

     of July 4th 1776, and thus didst spake
(perhaps with the help of Zarathustra)
yet,...the under belly
     of such bravura involved take
king (by subtle or obvious force) lands
     revered by Native Americans

leaving a trail of tears, destruction, and death
     (more accurately genocide), thus my
     (expected patriotism) moored
     within wicked wake,
hence aye avail muted tone deaf
     emotion on par with a charade

particularly, where deportees
     of late awful treatment
force me to a give a low
     (Failing) grade,
where home of the brave
     land of the free do masquerade

(or visa versa) makes a mockery,
     travesty, sham parade
AND this chap feels as if,
     he too partook of
     murerderous indigenous raid!