Snow still covered the temple grounds when a senior nun
happened upon the old monk Shinpuru clearing dead stalks
from his garden. Soon their talk turned to matters
befitting two old warriors.
“I liked our profession better in my youth,” said the nun.
“In those days my temple was a simple place, where work was
pleasant and mastery came easy. All we needed were text
editors to code, make to compile, and shell scripts to
connect everything up. But today—what misery! For each new
technology I must learn new design patterns, new libraries,
and new toolchains. Our build process is inflexible, the
design meetings interminable, the code reviews insulting,
the testers intolerant, and the deadlines insane.”
“Then the years have been kinder to me,” said Shinpuru.
“For in the days of my youth my temple was a primitive
place, where we celebrated victories that now seem laughably
small. But today—what bliss! For each new technology there
are so many tools that with a little study I can achieve
what would once have been impossible. And if our quickening
pace leads me to stumble, a dozen monks will catch me before
I fall. You should leave your miserable temple and come to
mine.”
The nun raised an eyebrow. “My brother Shinpuru is mocking
me, for we labor side-by-side today, just as we have done
since we were children.”
“Then I should escort you safely back to our abbey,” said
Shinpuru. “For your eyes are so glued to the beautiful
scenery behind you, I fear you will walk backwards off that
cliff.”
