Your disciple asks “Master Foo, in this era of smartphones and tablets, what

is the Way of Unix?”

Master Foo stroked his beard and replied:

“Once, a craftsman came to me carrying a fine Swiss army knife.

‘Master,’ he said, ‘with this one tool I can open bottles, trim wood, and even tighten screws. Surely it is the greatest invention.’

I asked him: ‘And when the screw is rusted, or the log is thick, will you not seek out a real saw or a true wrench?’

The craftsman lowered his head.

So it is with smartphones and tablets. They are the pocket knives of our age — convenient, ingenious, delightful. But the Way of Unix is like the workshop: a place where each tool is sharp, simple, and does its one thing well.

When your need is light, a pocket knife suffices. When your need is great, you return to the workshop.

Thus the Way of Unix is not bound by the shape of the device in your hand, but by the discipline of clarity, composability, and respect for tools.”

Would you like me to phrase this more like the original koans — short, paradoxical, and with a riddle at the end — instead of in story form?

“Master Foo,” the disciple continues, a little embarrassed, “which handheld device do you recommend?”

Master Foo smiled gently.

“A monk once asked me which teacup was best.

I told him: *the one that does not distract you from the tea.*

So it is with handheld devices. Choose the one that vanishes in your hand,

so that only the work remains.”