The year is 2121. The leaders of the world’s two superpowers, the Prime Minister of Indonesia and the Fastest Monk of Bhutan, are scheduled to sit down and hash out an agreement on peace.
“Good to see you again,” said Madame Prime Minister, offering the Fastest Monk a fruit basket.
“We’ve never met.”
“Oh, well, if we should meet again, it will be good to see you again.”
“I don’t understand your English. Do you think we could switch to Bhutanese or even Chinese. I’m much more fluent in those.”
“I don’t speak either languages. I just speak English, Indonesian, of course, and Latin.”
“You learned Latin before learning a language that people actually use? What does that say about you?”
“I wanted to understand English more deeply.”
“I fear our peace agreement is already doomed, cause I don’t know how I’m going to agree with anything you say when you would rather learn a dead language than a live one.”
“Hey, you’re the one who lives his whole life based on the words of a guy who’s been dead thousands of years. Go screw yourself, I don’t care, more peace for me.”
“I want this peace so bad I’m willing to kill you for it. When you see the Buddha, kill the Buddha.”
“I gave you a fruit basket.”
“Thank you,” The Fastest Monk said, sweeping the gift basket off his desk into the garbage.
“We’re here to make peace and you have to be a son of a bitch about it?”
“I hate fruit.”
“Let’s get to making the bloody peace, alright? We just have to agree on one thing, one positive thing, and then we can announce peace in our time and call all the photographers in, get our picture taken shaking hands and then I never have to see your ignorant face again.”
“You’ll have to see it in five years to sign the next Peace Accord.”
“I trust I will be here in five years, but do you really think you can be Fastest Monk in five years? You think you got the legs?”
“I don’t. Another thing we don’t agree on. How bout this, I’m sure you’ll agree with me when I say that it’s better to be happy than sad.”
“I disagree. Nothing great was ever inspired by happiness. I’m sad we haven’t reached peace yet, not happy about it. If I was happy about it, I wouldn’t seek to reach it, especially with a crabby old witch like you.”
“Here, have a puppy.”
The Prime Minister of Indonesia hands the Fastest Monk of Bhutan a basket with a pekinese puppy in it.
“Looks delicious,” the Fastest Monk said taking the basket.
“I thought you were vegetarian.”
“Not since the monastery changed cooks. Now it’s all barbecue all the time. My favorite is yak night.”
“I also like meat. Can we agree that meat is good and make peace in our time?”
“No, because the Buddha taught to respect all living things. I may not practice what I preach, but at least I preach the dharma of Buddha. If a man who enjoys a lesser happiness beholds a greater one, let him leave aside the lesser to gain the greater.”
“I’m not sure I get you.”
“Get? What does get mean? Get the door get the baby get the train, get… English is crazy, unstable, and yet here we are speaking it. Can you agree with me that the next Accord will be conducted completely in Chinese?”
“Chinese? No, English is still the world’s language. We’re not here to start a revolution, we’re here to make peace.”
“How are we supposed to establish the stability of peace if we can’t even discuss it in a logical language?”
“Only Chinese speak Chinese. English is spoken everywhere.”
“That’s true. And I don’t know why we’re arguing about the language that peace should be negotiated in, and not on the peace itself.”
“I’ve got your peace right here,” the Fastest Monk gave the Prime Minister the finger.
“That’s not helping,” The Prime Minister was not impressed.
“Look within, thou art the Buddha.”
The Prime Minster leaned forward on the desk. “Are you saying peace comes from within?”
“We don’t need to negotiate anything, if peace is our goal. We just have to look to ourselves.”
“Yeah, but, you have to also sign the Peace Accord.”
“I’m signing it with my mind.”
“Do you think after you could use a pen? Helps with the laws and such.”
“You give me an Accord to sign that is worded to mean that peace comes from within and there is no Accord to sign, and I’ll sign that Accord.”
“Great. Me too. We did it. Let’s call everyone back in.”
The Fastest Monk asks the Prime Minister for another moment before unleashing peace. He knows the circus the announcement is going to make, and he wants a second to prepare for the onslaught of peace that is bound to follow the opening of the door.