Knowing little to nothing about how the American Supreme Court makes and breaks laws, I asked my Zen master if he could offer enlightenment.
Master Hoo plucked a shiny coin from inside his paisley rayon slacks and held it up to the light for me to contemplate.
“See this coin, feel this coin, breathe this coin. It has two sides.” He wrapped his entire hand over it and then asked, “Now tell me, young Grasshopper, how many sides does a coin have?”
“Surely you joke with my naiveté, Master Hoo. You just said it – all coins have two sides!”
Being a Master of Zen, of course, meant that I wouldn’t get a straight answer out of the bastard. (Was he a lawyer or a judge or a politician in a past life? I wondered.) He opened his hand and showed me the two-sided coin lying flat in his palm.
“There is only one side,” he stated.
“But, Master Hoo, please do not deceive a young and fresh-faced youth with such lies!” I managed to get out before shit hit the Zen fan.
Despite being almost 99 years-old, Master Hoo could still strike like lightning! He kicked me in the groin, stomach and face simultaneously!
As I lay on the ground, spitting blood and teeth, Master Hoo hung his wrinkled and wise face over mine.
“Today, there is only one side to a coin. Tomorrow, there may be two. The next day there could be three sides to this coin.” He helped me to my feet, and as I wobbled where I stood and felt like throwing up as I contemplating the illusive nature of coin tosses and how wise old (or young) judges decided what should be called legal and what illegal, the Master added, “So what is the point of the coin at all?”
A bamboo flute played somewhere, and I knew I had achieved enlightenment ...
... about Zen, not American law ... that’s still royally fucked.
