A monk's work is never done. Until he dies, I suppose... then he's done.
The life of a mendicant suits me well. I've always been on the road somewhere, be it on a school outing (anything to get out of school) or changing schools, band travels or visiting relatives; I've never managed to stay put for very long. Even as a monk, I've never been sedentary for more than the minimum required three-month rainy season - sometimes not even that, if duty called. And here I am on the road again, full of foolish enthusiasm about returning to the world.
This time off to India, seemingly the worst place in the world to find inner peace, yet so many do just that. Under the Bodhi tree or in the park of the Buddha's final passing away, there is an incredible peace and quiet to be found; all the more incredible considering the extreme chaos of the country surrounding these havens. India... they say you either love it or hate it.