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I am here to help old people to cross the road. The traffic is dangerous."
That's what is happening: missionaries, public servants, are bent upon helping you!
Jake the barber, passing by a tenement house in the pre-dawn hours of the morning, saw a man leaning limply against the doorway.
"What's the matter?" he asked sympathetically. "Drunk?"
"Yeah, I'm afraid sho."
"Do you live in this house?"
"Yep."
"Want me to help you upstairs?"
"Yeah, shank you."
"What floor do you live on?"
"Shecon'."
With much difficulty, Jake half dragged, half carried the wilting figure up the dark stairway to the second floor.
"Is this your apartment?" he asked.
"Yep," affirmed the man, his eyes already closed in alcoholic slumber.
Jake opened the unlocked door and shoved the drunk inside. He then groped his way back downstairs. But as he was going through the vestibule, he made out the dim outline of another man, apparently in worse condition than the first, staggering in front of the house.
"What's the trouble, mister?" he asked. "Are you drunk, too?"
"Yesh," came the feeble reply.
"Do you live in this house also?"
"Yesh."
"Don't tell me you live on the second floor, too?"
"Yesh."
Again Jake half carried the stranger to the second floor. He pushed open the same door and shoved the man inside the darkened room.
As Jake was emerging from the building he discerned yet a third man, evidently worse off than either of the other two. This poor fellow was dishevelled and bleeding from cuts and bruises on his head and face. He was about to approach him and offer him assistance when the object of his solicitude darted into the street and threw himself into the arms of a policeman.
Offisher," he gasped, pointing a quivering finger at Jake, "perteck me from this man. All night long he's done nothin' but drag me upstairs an' throw me down the elevator shaft!"
Sol, it is not a question of how much more man needs to awaken; man simply needs to be awake. And the only way to be awake is through meditation; there is no other way. Zen is
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