There was once a man. Really, he was more a boy, both in mind and in body. The boy played games, read, and studied with all of the other boys. Some days, he was good, he loved the world and it him. Other times he was disobedient and incorrigible. HIs school mates liked him well and he had no enemies, still his mind was not at rest. Many boys minds’ are not at rest, but this boy (unlike most boys and men) came to understand that it could be and he sought to make it so. He put himself through many trials and still he searched.
One day the boy stood for a moment in silence, mindful of the beat of his heart. He had felt the thrumming many times in the past. Craning his neck toward the ground, he watched as his chest rose and fell. When he brought his head back into alignment with his spine he beheld a figure in front of him. It was he, himself. The boy saw himself as others might and became conscious of himself in the world. The cosmos kissed his brow and thoughts of past and future faded like an early morning brume.
As all boys must, he became a man. He put his schooling aside and set out on foot, rucksack on his back, journal in hand. The man called no place his home nor did he claim citizenship, for the world was his home, a train his bed, conversation his pillow.
His boots, caked in mud, carried him from beach to mountain and from mountain to valley. He sat for three days under the hallucinogenic influence of ayahuasca, mind bending and pushing beyond its limits into territory uncharted and exquisite. In a more distant land, he floated down the nam as the sun shone on his pale skin and he drank warm Mehkong until the stars revealed themselves to his inebriated eyes. By night, he made love, he read his books and he spoke and he listened. Each of these places were beautiful to him. The people he met were part of him, and he loved them. In every moment he maintained a beginner’s mind.
Once, the man sat atop a rock which stood next to a road and looked upon its travellers. A great flood, from time immemorial, had committed the rock to stand in that spot, that men might one day walk beside it as they tread the great road. The road disdained its migrants and dug from itself deep holes so that they might fall in, and threw upon itself heavy stones that blocked their path. Despite the violence the road offered, it was the only road for miles and all who hoped to travel that country were forced to use it. He met eyes with those who happened to lift their gaze up toward the scalding sun, cool sweat dripping from their faces. Their eyes seemed strange to him, cataracted. Ofttimes, he would call to them on the road, his only answer a distant stare and the smallest breath of dust as dirt fell from their tired feet.
Only the young took notice of him. They would make faces at him and point to the heavens on those occasions when the sky lit up. The children loved the man and pulled the tails of their parents’ garments, but most paid no mind, always moving toward their destination. At times, the very old would meet his gaze and they would share a gentle smile. Every so often, a body would attempt to ascend the rock, sometimes a woman, others a man, never did one succeed. He sat upon the rock until his back grew sore, and resumed his journey.
The man made his way to a town, taking refuge at its inn. He supped that night in the kitchen of the inn and shared stories of travel with the other boarders. On a night, one of the lodgers spoke to him with words he had only seldom heard. Ideas sprang from their minds with such voracity as to cause them at times to stammer. The sun made its way from West to East before they waned. As they slept, their dreams interwove, experiences blended, and they achieved symmetry.
The pair sojourned for many years together, spreading good will wherever they might walk. When they were approached by others, which was often for they conversed easily with strangers, they emanated the message which had wrapt their focus since their first night together. The words they spoke were easy and they listened with every intention. Each mind they met found a place of ease.
“My cow will not give me milk,” one would say, “what will my children drink?”
“Away with you and your cow to the city, where the men buy their milk from the grocer. Charge those that live there a quart of milk for their little ones to ride your barren cow. Then, you’ll be rich in milk, the townspeople will thank you for the respite, and the children will call you hero,” said Tijan, the friend of the man.
Tijan and the man moved across the country. Their every thought intent on the now. It was more than once that Tijan pulled his meek coverings from hips to ankles and squatted. And as he let depart all that his body could not use, he felt every muscle contract, and noted. When he happened upon a woman’s fervor, Tijan gave of himself each moment, each gaze, each thrust, in euphoric symmetry.
His friend, when he ate, tasted every grain as it grazed his tongue. When he walked he felt the earth and denoted cobble from pebble.
