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The Wanderer, Part 7

1 Comment / Daoism, detachment, philosophy, storytelling, Wanderer Series, Writing

Please read the first parts of the story here:
The Wanderer, Part 1
The Wanderer, Part 2
The Wanderer, Part 3
The Wanderer, Part 4
The Wanderer, Part 5
The Wanderer, Part 6

Tas rolled awake in the midst of a hard rainfall, his canopy was beginning to flood because he hadn’t angled the roof properly. He had been alone for longer than he could remember, though he knew it had only been a few days. He had eaten well the night before; he found a mango tree and caught a wild chicken in the jungle. The old man would have disapproved, but he didn’t care. The chicken had filled him up more than any meal ever had. He salted some of the cooked meat from the night before and began to eat.

After his breakfast, his mind turned immediately to his surroundings and seeing that the rain was worsening, set out into the jungle.

His shoes were soaked in minutes so he replaced them with large fan leaves that served as a sort of boat for his feet as he waded. Tas soon learned to stay up slightly in the trees to see any available fruit. It also turned out to be a bit faster than walking on the mud. He spent an hour wading towards the south, he wished to see deeper into the depths of the wild. He could go home tomorrow.

Tas hadn’t seen a tiger since the day Vesu died. He still felt the fear in his body, a shaking that woke him in the night sometimes. He continued on his path for a bit longer, wading through mud until he fell over a tree root and was covered in filthy mud from the forest floor.

He groaned with displeasure as the mud slipped from his skin, his face was completely covered. He used one last clean spot from his shirt to clean around his eyes after using his fingers to remove most of the muck. Then he grabbed his water and washed his face. It was getting low, his original supply for a week had dwindled down to just a few days. He would have to find a waterhole, or some coconuts soon, which he had scarcely found in this thick jungle.

As Tas finished wiping his eyes, he became aware of a man standing directly in front of him. This man had hole in his ears and they were filled with wooden carvings, his face was tattooed with dark symbols of colored birds and some creatures that Tas had never seen, but seemed ferocious enough. He seemed to loom over him as he approached menacingly. The man seemed to move with pure muscle and in a short step took out his bow to aim it at Tas. He laced it with a long arrow and pulled it back, ready to split Tas’ head open.

But Tas stared back at this man, hard determination seemed to sizzle on his skin, a fire began to burn in his belly. Had he come this far to let this man end him here?

He rose and walked over to the man with his head bowed and moved the arrow away from its original target. The man whistled and four others moved from the shadows. The rain was still pouring, splashing all around and sometimes bouncing right up to splash Tas right in the eyes.

The men moved towards him and he kept still. He simply looked up for a second, put his hand on his heart, and said, “friend” with the same hard determination that he had met the gaze of the first man. These others were even taller, stronger, and more tattooed and ornamented in strange ways. One had holes in his cheeks, another had the skin of his hands missing and tattoos over the visible veins in his legs. He looked up to see the warrior’s face, a scar laid over one eye that was still functional. The scar continued down to his lip, forming a mean and permanent grimace.

They grabbed Tas by the shoulders and bound him, taking him through the jungle, further in the east. He struggled to free himself at one point, but the grim-looking man hit him in the back of the head, just soft enough not to knock him out. He remembered the sage in the desert and thought back to their last moments together. The old man did not seem so crazy now, compared to this madness. Tas knew of the eastern tribes, men who ate men, sometimes women and children. Some smoked all variety of herbs and plants, others spent days in silence, similar to his own master. He wondered where these men were taking him.

When they stopped at some coconut trees to refill their water supplies and take a short break, Tas waited patiently for the permanently frowning man to leave him. He couldn’t help but stare at the scar and wonder what it was from. After a bit, the man went into the jungle, probably to relieve himself. Tas immediately got up to talk to the first man who seemed to be in charge. Tas saw the dark tattoos around his eyes as he walked closer, until the man saw Tas approach and gave a quick whistle. Immediately, Tas was thrown to the ground and restrained. He looked up at the man and was immediately forced back down to the floor and bound. As he rose from the much he could just make out the tatoos of the grim man, felt his harsh laugh pierce through him as he swiped with his spear in a motion Tas couldn’t see, but all he felt was pain.

Tas fell to his knees, the air was knocked out of him so he could barely breathe. He looked up one last time at the man with the ornamented ears. The man smiled for the first time, a wicked smile of razor sharp teeth, red and bloody stained teeth, and two gold noserings. It was truly terrifying and Tas couldn’t help but show his fear. The man moved closer to Tas’ ear and whispered, “no friends here.” And then he bit off a chunk of Tas’ ear. He howled with laughter as Tas howled his pain; Tas was shaking and began to struggle ferociously against his captors. A moment later, the grim man approached Tas and smiled with rotten teeth that were as sharp as knives and now fresh with blood. He took the end of his spear again, this time swinging wickedly and knocked Tas to the floor and down into the depths of the dark.

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The Wanderer, Part 5

Leave a Comment / health, philosophy, philosophy, self-realization, storytelling, Wanderer Series, Writing

Please read the first parts of the story here:
The Wanderer, Part 1
The Wanderer, Part 2
The Wanderer, Part 3
The Wanderer, Part 4

Tas woke in a small bed by the wall. His shoulder was asleep, so he took a few moments to roll side to side and stretch his legs, still very sore and tired from walking the days before. It had taken two to arrive in the coastal city and another to find the inn called “rest long, eat lots”. He had been disappointed to find that the inn did not have much food, had a curfew, and let the light in as early as the sun rose.

He met a man named Shatar. He told him how he had come to arrive and of his mentor, the old man who wandered aimlessly. Shatar laughed when he first heard Tas’ description, but hadn’t laughed since. He was a serious man, concerned with running his business well so that he could feed his dozen or so children, who helped around the inn. Most were boys, which seemed to be rather unfortunate, as the inn seemed to lack the proper care that a good resting place required.

But he was in no position to complain and was given a small room with a bucket, drain, and small living area. He was told he would be given water to wash in the morning. There was a small bed, barely raised off the floor in the corner with soft blankets and sheet and a few cushions underneath. So this small room was his home for the time being and he quite enjoyed being able to sleep on a cushion rather than the hard wood of trees.

He woke each morning to work. He woke when the others did, no questions asked, and left with the group to head to the docks.

He spent the days loading and unloading cargo from ships, while the taskmaster barked orders and generally harassed the lot of them into moving slightly faster. Tas wasn’t sure if it worked, but he kept up a fast pace so that he was never punished with the whip. Occasionally, it seemed that the taskmaster just didn’t like him. At the end of each day, he was given 4 silvers and he would give one of them to Shatar each night for food. But it was a perilous job, full of surprises and occasionally he would be forced to stay later, say if a ship came in a dusk. It was hard enough work during the day, so if they worked into the night they were given an extra two silver.

Soon, Tas began to spend two silver a day on food, one during midday when the sun was too hot to work, and the other at night, when he was done working. He would save usually 2 per day, sometimes only one because he had to clean his clothes or buy something new like sandals. He had bought a good pair on his first day and his feet had thanked him ever since.

The days were long and hard, but he could feel his body adapting. A large bag of rice cost 35 silver, and the spices and nuts that he needed were another 30. He knew that he would spend a month then return to the wandering sage he had pledged himself to.

But in the first week, he found himself out at night with a few of his coworkers and they walked to a dirty and lowly place with men out front smoking all sorts of contraptions, a rickety porch, and a crowded entrance. The four of them walked inside to see several women serving men drinks, as well as several other who were sitting and some that were even kissing.

Tas had never encountered such a scene in his life, as his village had been quite tradition. He stormed out of the lowly and dirty place in a hurry, and he went straight to his room to lay awake on his bed for several hours. For the next few days, he went to work without talking to his friends, but on the fourth day, they invited him to come with them once again. He no longer felt the same revulsion as he entered the rickety old body filled hut. His curiosity had taken control.

Again, as he entered he saw a man and woman begin to kiss, long slow kisses like he had never seen. He stared for a moment before Annu, his favorite coworker, pushed him forward. He nearly tripped over a broken stool and continued by a bar, replete with all different colors and sizes of concoction and labels that he couldn’t understand. He waved for one above, a luscious brown color with hints of amber. The keeper made a motion for 2 silver and so he obliged. Upon opening and sipping the liquid, he felt a fire and spit. His friends laughed and Annu bought one of the same. As he drank it, he coughed as well, to the enjoyment of the older members of the crowd. Then, a woman took notice of them.

She first caressed Annu face, pulled it to her own, then kissed his lips with a ferocity that Tas had never seen. Then she turned, seeing his staring eyes, and moved towards him faster than a bolt of lightning and their lips danced for a moment before they parted. Tas could hardly move, let alone speak. He felt something pulling him from the small shack before he could think and eventually found himself being pulled to benches near the water by Annu. The others were left behind.

“You would have given her all your money,” Annu said slowly, as if answering a question. “I know you keep it all with you.”

Suddenly, Tas became extremely self-conscious, in a way that he hadn’t been since he’d left the desert a week before. He didn’t know what to say.

“Come. We should sleep to rest our backs for tomorrow. God knows they need it.”

Tas looked up with a sudden remembrance and gave a hearty chuckle. God indeed! He supposed god was the reason he was here in the first place. But the old man had left him. What was he pursuing now?

“Yes, they do.” Tas would keep to himself for now.

“What do you save for?” Annu asked him, a strange veil had taken his eyes and blurred them.

“I save my silvers so that I can follow a man to find god.” Tas said, realizing for the first time the ridiculousness of his quest. What was he thinking? Was there any purpose at all behind what he was doing? What was the old man up to anyways?

Annu did not laugh. He looked solemnly at Tas. He seemed to decide something, then asked, “What is this man like?”

Tas laughed, “He is the queerest man you might ever meet and nothing he does makes sense. But he laughs at everything and smiles all day long.” Tas looked out into the horizon, waves moving seamlessly into the oblivion. “I don’t know why I follow him.” He admitted, “except that there is a certain curiosity that I have that I cannot explain and that tells me to learn from this man.”

Annu looked at Tas long and hard, and again, seemed to come to a decision. “Well, you are my friend now, Tas. If you need anything, ask me and I will do my best to help you with what you need.”

Tas took a long moment to reply, “can you get me another kiss?”

Annu laughed, this time in a heart-felt chuckle and rose, slapping Tas on the back. “Probably not, but we can try can’t we?” He grinned slyly at Tas hinting at mischief.

“We sure can.” and with the remaining 11 silver in his pocket, Tas began to walk back to the inn but stopped as he had a thought.

“Do you save Annu?” He asked, turning towards his new friend.

“Yes.” Annu said, a distance returned to his voice.

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Annu said with another grin, and he disappeared behind a moving cart.

Tas grinned as he turned to walk home. Tomorrow indeed.

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The Wanderer, Part 2

7 Comments / Daoism, detachment, meditation, philosophy, Wanderer Series, Writing, yoga philosophy

Please read the first part of the story here: The Wanderer, Part 1

There was once a boy, who decided that he would follow a wanderer into the desert to learn about god. The boy’s name was Tas. After receiving the approval of his parents, he travelled into the desert in the apprenticeship of a wandering wise man to find perfect bliss, realization of the divine, and to learn god.

They walked until the small town once a few hours had passed in silence, the boy began to ask the sage questions. However, the desert man did not respond. At first he listened, but upon hearing the boy’s questions, the teacher dismissed his words. The boy fell silent, angry that he had been duped into following an old man who wouldn’t talk.

Finally, they came to a tree, alone in the vast expanse of desert, rising into the setting sun like a monolith of entangled roots, branches, and a thick trunk supporting a massive web of leaves fanning out in all directions.

Upon arrival, the old man seemed to inspect some different areas of the tree, then he hit some things, moved some rocks, then he grabbed under a protruding root for a small sack. Inside, Tas could barely make out some old and dusty looking jars and a few scrolls. The old man grabbed one of the smaller jars and a small but very sharp knife.

Then the sage, slow as usual when not walking in the hot sun, took his time to uncover a hidden pot and then gathered some stones to place in a circle for a fire. The grass was a dead golden brown, and the sun was setting down into the horizon, purple and pink streaks of light shone through the powerful clouds illuminating the sky. Tas’ stomach rolled on itself; he was just starting to realize the effects of walking all day without eating. He clutched his stomach.

“We can eat now?” He said simply, not wanting to offend the sage, fearing that his meal might depend upon it. The sage looked at him for a long moment and waited. Suddenly, he laughed.

Tas was confused. Who was this man who had led him astray into the desert and seemed to know the way so well. He thought the man was holy and knew of god and that sort of thing, but he was beginning to think that this man was simply insane and very poor.

The old man laughed again, as if he knew what the boy was thinking. “You don’t think twice about god now. Funny, how easy we forget.”

The boy had no idea what the man meant. Yes, he was on his journey to god. What was the old man talking about? Surely he didn’t need to focus on his mission every moment of the day.

“I don’t think about god because I am hungry.” Tas said slowly, uncertain of the old man’s eccentric responses. He looked up from his arranging of stones, which he had been finishing for the last 5 minutes. He began to use the knife to cut wood from the tree for the fire. Tas wondered how long it might take.

The sage seemed to move even slower. He made no response to Tas, which just proved to infuriate him further. Tas’ stomach was beginning to really hurt now, he could not remember ever going a day without a meal.

He watched as the old man slowly started a fire, using a flint and tinder that he carried with him. Tas was preoccupied with his stomach, it was really starting to growl now. The sage heard the low rumble and laughed. He asked Tas with a freshly curious tone, “you are hungry, yes?”

Tas responded, “Yes, of course, can you not hear my stomach?”

“Yes, of course I hear. You are the only sound here for many steps,” he laughed to himself, Tas had no idea what the joke was. He only grew angrier each time the old man laughed.

He began to take out some rice, and some water from his pack and heated the water in the pot. He was in a jolly mood indeed, seemingly more so each time Tas grunted with pain from his stomach.

Finally, the rice was finished, the old man added some spices, some nuts, and some dried vegetables that he stirred in with the rice. A couple of minutes later, the old man finished splitting the second half of the rice and placed it at the boys feet. The boy moved to eat…

“Wait!” the old man exclaimed, pushing Tas’ chest up from the floor. Tas groaned furiously.

“I cannot wait! I have never been so hungry in my life!” the boy said, now beginning to feel the pain subside a little less than it was before.

“You want to know god?” The old man looked directly into Tas’ eyes, they seemed to see right into him, and Tas couldn’t help but shiver. Goosebumps lined his hand and legs even though the night was quite warm, but the old man continued to stare. He looked into the embers of the fire and remembered his father, his mother, and the suffering they endured. He remembered his grandfather, whom he had just barely know, but he knew from his father that the man was great, honorable, loved by the whole family.

“Yes, I want to know!” The boy’s anger seemed to spill out, all of his rage accumulated in the words and he couldn’t help but feel the quiet breeze settling around him. The night seemed to grow quieter and twilight was in full bloom, a nearly full moon bright in the sky.

“Good,” said the old man, slower than before. His eyes were closed and he seemed to sway in the breeze. “Then we wait.” Tas stared at the old man for a moment before realizing that he was not going to open his eyes.

“What do we wait for?” Tas said, agitation lacing his voice poisonously.

“Until you are the wind, you wait. Close your eyes. Listen. Breathe slowly. Listen.”

Realizing suddenly that this was his first lesson, Tas immediately shit his eyes and began to listen. But he soon found himself adjusting his sitting. He found that he could not stop thinking about how hungry he was no matter how hard he tried to listen. He started to play with his fingers, waiting for the old man, he couldn’t listen with this hunger in his mind.

The old man, without opening his own eyes, said, “Close your eyes. Do not think of your stomach. Think of god.”

But this only served to perplex the boy more. They were out in the wilderness, under a tree, in the middle of nowhere. How could he think about god here? So he decided to try one more time. He closed his eyes, and this time, took a big breath in. As he inhaled, he could feel his chest expand and as he listened to his breath, he could hear the softness of the wind playing with his breath.

Immediately, the old man laughed, and said, “Good! You know already to learn. This is good. Tomorrow we learn more. Now we eat.”

The boy had forgotten about the food, just for a moment. He had forgotten about everything. He could still feel the breath, but never in the same way. He re-realized his hunger when he began to eat, then almost immediately fell to sleep. He did not think of a blanket, or even of his home, only that one moment, where he had felt so free.

The Wanderer, Part 2 Read More »

Maya | माया | Illusions of Reality (Cartesian Skepticism)

1 Comment / Daoism, philosophy, philosophy, reality, Writing, yoga philosophy

What is Real?

Maya is the concept of illusion. Mostly this pertains to consciousness, and it’s limitations. Consider that everything you have ever known or seen is only a half truth, if that. In reality, you can see far less than half, smell far less, and hear far less than what is really in your environment. Luckily we don’t need to see more to survive on this beautiful planet we call home.

I hope this title doesn’t turn you off, because I my own mind this will be the most interesting article to date. This is a way for me to talk about mind and matter under a reasonably explicit title, together, with lots of philosophical nomenclature.

I have recently come to the conclusion that it does not matter whether or not god exists. Whether there is an extreme nothingness at the source of the universe, or an extreme somethingness at the core of the universe, it doesn’t seem to matter. I have obtained this belief from the contrast of Hindu and Buddhist believe systems and learning how both are supported in my own experience in different ways.

Maya’s Source

My personal definition of god is the pulsation of the universe, the energy behind the sustenance of existence, if you will. The reason why there is something, other than nothing. The closest religious depiction of this is Lord Vishnu, who is the protector and sustainer of the universe, from Hinduism, though his cosmic form isn’t talked about often in the Ancient Indian texts.

After studying Jainism and learning more about the eastern religious concepts of God, I have concluded that there cannot be a creator “god” behind the creation of the universe. It is an illogical conclusion, because even if this “god” created the universe, something would necessarily have to create “god”. If you want to consider “god” as the creator, you have to address the creation of this “god”, that super cedes universal existence. And for that, we need a bit of evidence, which no human has ever been able to provide. So I say, god or no god, the universe exists and to my knowledge and in the relativity of my current existence, it is infinite. I understand that there is a lot of evidence to support a beginning of the universe, but I do hypothesize that we are looking at only a small, imperfect picture of the universe’s history and that it could be far vaster and more complex that humanity can even imagine at this point in our evolution. So I choose to believe in thermodynamics and unknown compressive forces behind black holes that seem to be at the core of existence.

The Dream of Consciousness

I hope that explained a bit about my stance entering the conversation of what reality is. The possibility that we live inside of a dream, or an alternate reality, or the matrix and what we, as individuals, experience.

Lately I have been listening to a lot of philosophical talks, to aid in mediation and generally to learn more about eastern philosophy, I do have to thank my friend Kyle for telling me who Alan Watts is and I have listened to him, Osho, and a few other philosophers over the past couple of weeks and their talks on consciousness.

I am very luck to have been educated by Jesuits, perhaps the most philosophically inclined religious sect in existence in the Western world.

It is important, when discussing consciousness, to bring up the idea of subjectivity, and the infinite randomness of the universe. We have created, for our own benefit, systems of knowledge that can accurately and precisely categorize, therefore, predict future events in our relative sphere. However, this overgeneralization is an illusion, as is the illusion of a “normal” or undeviated being.

Maya in the Modern World

The United States does not really exist, it is simply a collection of people who live in an area that are grouped together for administrative purposes. Just as the human race does not truly exist, it is simply a way of identifying our own species. So to understand the variances of consciousness, we must view it as a spectrum, as infinitely varied as the human species itself.

In this world, there are many illusions created by the subjectivity of our consciousness This illusion is the same as the illusion of separateness. Humans share 99.99999%, yet all we see is diversity. In truth, the difference lies in our path, the journey we are pulled towards, and our in own interpretations of how the individual interacts with the world. So I will attempt to explain how this illusion seems to function, in its most basic of forms.

You only know you exist because you are reflected by the external world. If you had no effect on the world, you would not know, or have any credence to support the idea of your own existence. You see this in a mirror, in your best friend’s perception of you, of the opinion of your parents, of the way you are treated by strangers. You begin to learn more, at least about how you as a person are perceived by the other humans around you. We see this in a crappy movie like “ghost” where the hero doesn’t realize he is dead until enough events pass, and eventually finds a mentor to teach him how to interact with the world in his present form. He learns his own existence from the external environment. It is why we feel fast, or strong, or confident, because we have had significant experience with our environments, in the case of fast and strong, our muscles, and in the case of confidence, our past dealings with other humans.

It is the opposite when you explore the external world, you find different aspects of yourself that you did not know existed. This occurs because you are pushing the limits of comfort, or normalcy, and are expanding upon your prior experiences. So we cannot truly know about how we would act in a situation unless we are put into that situation, because everything else is idealism. The environment forces us to comes to terms with our humanity, our limits, and our exceptional qualities. Indeed, if used often in the external world, our human capacity seems to have a tremendous potential for creation. However, that is a different argument all together.

But what does Consciousness really do?

Consciousness seems to function optimally in the state of learning, or at least adjusting to the external environment internally. This is the reason why consciousness seems to have come about to begin with; to fine tune the functioning of life to the sun, essentially. It is why all mammals have a pineal gland, to regulate the resting/waking cycle of the being’s existence and to keep the being in a rhythm that corresponds to the rhythm of that being’s relative cosmos, in our case the sun. So we can establish the consciousness exists because of the external environment. To perceive and interpret, in whatever limited fashion it can, the electromagnetic spectrum of energy and its effect on the being. So from the beginning, we must accept that consciousness is extremely limited in its perception, if it can indeed perceive anything at all.

Life itself, is a process, a constantly evolving thing that cannot be defined by a state by itself. The qualities change over time and therefore, even in the individual’s lifespan, there is a tremendous amount of change in the individual. We learn through the patterns, through the causes and effects that we realize and know as conscious knowledge, and the things we learn subconsciously as a part of the unconscious mind. But our own view of life and our experiences are the result of experiments and predictions and observations that we have taken from the outside environment and taken to be a repeated pattern. So we start to see the world in sorts of patterns and that really is the nature of consciousness, at its essential functioning, even cognitive neuroscientist will agree with me, in essence, the way the world changes, shifts, and the patterns interact in the world around us. This is, in essence, the way the entire universe functions, in patterns and changes and constantly evolving changes and fluctuations of energy.

Karma in Maya

I will hypothesize that the only true way to know the world is to act upon it, in it, as a part of it to see where your ripples effect that of the entire “pond” of the world. This is the essence of Karma, or existence in the world. No animal was ever fed by thinking, “I want eat.” It requires the physical act of eating, if nothing else.

You cannot use the language of the illusion without getting into confusion, for it is ever paradoxical. This is why reality, enlightenment, and the illusion (maya) are so difficult to grasp. They are the different sides of the same coin, and to the unseeing eye, they are parallel and exist as the same.

Humanity is a part of the cosmic nature of things, rather than some being that was kind of plopped here and told to make due by god. This assertion, in fact, becomes completely ridiculous in the eyes of a skeptic, because there is no evidence.

We question the true unity of the universe is a function of the cosmos. If we are all one massive collection of energy, simply broken down into electrons and quarks and all of those subatomic particles, then again, we are missing something. The idea that I am, as a separate function that of the universe, that I can realize that I, in fact, do exist, even if it is true that I do not exist.

Either nothing exists at all, or its all one big massive collection of energy that we categorize with the feebleness of our own consciousness. But there is still this issue of the separateness of consciousness which doesn’t seem to make sense if we are all the same.

Our understanding of the functioning of human consciousness will change drastically over the next thirty years as alternative forms of consciousness are explored in greater degrees, mainly referring to that of our primate cousins and the large mammals that live in the depths of the ocean. Their conscious functioning in combination with increases in the field of neuroscience, particularly imaging, are really required to know how the spectrum of conscious experience varies on the planet. But if you don’t believe other animals are conscious, spend some significant time with an intelligent animal, such as a chimp or a dolphin. Their ability to interact with you is proof enough that they can at least predict and analyze your own behavior, let alone adjust their own behavior according to yours, which is an extremely intense conscious experience of learning.

We have to resolve separateness by consideration of subjective dimensions, which is again, part of the illusion. We are separate because it allows for the compartmentalization and therefore specialization of energy. It is how complex organisms evolved from single-celled organisms, and eventually led way into the human being, one of the most complex beings on the planet (it depends on how you measure complexity).

Maya Tricks us into Separation

So in reality, everyone on earth is really a part of the earth. To think we are separate is a part of the Maya, the illusion of consciousness. If we humans destroy our planet, we are inevitably committing suicide. Unless we become a part of another planet before the extinction date, or event horizon, or whatever. We contribute to and fluctuate with the planet, the waves, the sun, the sky, the trees, the wind, everything really. Reality seems to be the recurrence, the constants, the things that are unchanging and always seem to exist; however, there is a taint, and that taint is your self and the culmination of your prior experiences and genetics and anthropological background that has led you to now. Reality is the present, tainted by the lackings and shortcomings of the human’s limited perception of his world (consciousness), which without illusion (maya) of separateness, has glimpses of awareness of the constant fluctuations of energy and form and nothingness. This is consciousness, to know and enjoy the limits of perception and to be constantly pushing them, exploring and playing with all that you can while on the planet.

Always remember, people will show you what they feel they are lacking. It is the nature of the ego. The teachers and people who talk about love, light, peace, etc tend to talk about it so much because they feel they are missing something, or lacking in some way and therefore have to make up for it by being perfect. But in fact, the human is already perfect, already lovely, already beautiful. So saying these things is an affirmation, something that the ego needs to feel validated. Goodie goodies are the thieves of virtue. To be perfect is to be something that isn’t human, so beware of anyone that does not show you their humanity. The true teachers have the most awkward senses of humor, have an attitude about things as being the way they are, and is a bit of a rascal, or a bit of a motherfucker, if you will. Just a few notes about from the Dao that rang true for me.

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Questioning Faith

Leave a Comment / art, detachment, holy books, mindfulness, religion, storytelling, Writing

“This is what happens when you give yourself to love completely, my son” the priest sighed, continuing to stare at the crucifix. His own distaste at the particularly vivid depiction was apparent. It was almost like Jesus was there.

The boy, only eight, looked up again at the statue, hung over the altar in the center of the church. He wondered how they had lifted it there. He was so used to seeing the crucifix that it had almost no effect on him. It’s not that he didn’t love Jesus, but he didn’t understand what it meant. Why was this nice man, who had helped many people, killed for what he had done? And why was everyone so concerned about it? He had learned about Albert Einstein in second grade, he had done a book report on him. Why wasn’t Albert Einstein in the church? He had also learned about Gandhi in first grade, and also wondered why Gandhi wasn’t in the church. There were lots of people he had never heard of, Peter, Judas, Luke, Matthew, but none of the people he had learned about in his history classes.

“Father, I don’t understand, why is Jesus the one above the altar? We learned about mother Theresa and Gandhi, and Martin Luther King in school. Why aren’t they in the church, or above the altar?”

“Well, my son, there are really many reasons why Jesus is your savior.”

“My savior?” said the boy. “What does that mean?”

“That means he came to Earth, to save you from your sins.”

“What sins father?” said the boy. He obviously did not understand.

“Whenever a human is born, they are born with sin my son. This is the story of Adam and Eve, in the book of Genesis. Eve, the woman, bit the apple when she was tempted by satan, the serpent, and unearthed the path of knowledge for humanity. This is our essential flaw, that our ancestors chose for us.”

“But I don’t want to be bad father! I want to be good, like Jesus, and Mary, and Joseph!”

“Then ask Jesus for forgiveness, my son. I can help you with this.” The priest said with a kind smile. “I have studied Jesus for my whole life, so we can talk about him together.” The priests smile grew with each word, excited to help this child learn more about god and Jesus.

“Aren’t we talking about him right now?” said the boy.

“Well, you need to confess your sins. Otherwise, god cannot forgive you.”

“But if god already knows my sins, like you said today when you said god is all-powerful, all-knowing, all-knowing and all-forgiving, doesn’t he just forgive me? I don’t mean to forget my homework, or leave my gym shorts at home, so won’t god just forgive me?”

“No my son. You need to recognize your sins as sins in order for them to be forgiven. You have to ask, god will answer in his own way.”

“So if I ask god for a new bike, he’ll give me one if I’m good?!?” the boy said with newfound enthusiasm in his eyes. The priests smile faded into a heart laugh, full of empathy.

“No, my son, god does not work like that.”

“So I can ask for forgiveness and he gives it without question, but he won’t give me a new bike if I’m good? What gives? I thought god was all-powerful and if I’m good, I think I should get a bike. Don’t you, father?”

“Things appear in our lives when they are meant to my son. God will give you this gift if he sees fit to award you with it. And yes son, I think you should get a bike. Maybe you should talk to your parents about it.”

“Good idea!” the boy said enthusiastically, but the priest could tell that he still had questions.

“What else concerns you, my son? Why do you look like you are still in contemplation. Can I answer any more questions for you?” he said slowly, making sure the boy felt comfortable to express his feelings. He prided himself on making his church safe and available for the youth, after all, they are the future.

“Well, I still don’t understand what made Jesus so special. Why can’t I be like Jesus? I want to do miracles and help the poor and teach people about happiness and love, just like him!”

“Jesus was special my son. He is god’s son and he sacrificed himself, despite his own divinity, to show humanity the power of love.” He gestured to the altar. “This is the ultimate love, my son.”

“But so did Martin Luther King and all of the martyrs. I just don’t understand why Jesus was different from them.” the boy looked ashamed and hung his head.

“Doubt is a part of faith my son. It makes you stronger, there is no shame.” He held the boy’s head up and looked into his eyes. “Jesus was different, because he chose. He knew that he was going to die, yet he chose to continue on his path. That is what makes him special, son. That is why he was the son of god.” The priest released his gaze and looked back to the cross. “He chose to suffer, to come to Earth, to teach us how to love, despite knowing that he would be crucified.”

“Wow.” The boy sat for a moment in thought. “So while he was in heaven, he decided that he would go to Earth, even though he would be tortured and killed? So Jesus knows the future?”

“Of course, my son. Jesus and God are the same.”

“But why didn’t god to come to tell us himself? Why did he need to have a son?”

“Because God does not take human form, my son. His divinity is too complete. Jesus needed to be sent so that we could see and understand.”

“But doesn’t that mean that he isn’t all powerful? If he had to send his son instead of himself, then he couldn’t come to teach us, right?” the boy now looked confused and disappointed. His brow was heavy.

The priest took his time to respond. He knew that his answer would be important, “I don’t think it is a question of power, or of god not being powerful enough to come himself. Jesus is god in human form. They are the same, there is no difference.”

“But Jesus died,” the boy said with certainty. “Doesn’t that mean that god died?”

The priest looked down. No one had ever asked him this before. “Well, god can’t die son. In the same way, Jesus can’t die. That’s why he rose from the dead. Because he was God, and death has no power over God.”

“But Jesus isn’t around now… If he was all-powerful, why did he only stay for 40 days after he died and was resurrected, instead of living for all of eternity with humanity? Wouldn’t that be more representative of his love, rather than dying for sins? He could still talk to us and teach us so much! He could be the world leader!”

“That’s not how it works, son.”

“How do you know? You aren’t Jesus, maybe you don’t know him as well as you think…”

“Son, I have spent my life studying Jesus’ work. I eat, sleep, and live by his work. Why do you think I don’t know Jesus?” the priest said with serious consternation. The smile was gone.

“Well, what if he is different from the stories. I mean, what makes the Bible different from any other book? I really don’t understand it, because my mom showed me the Veda and some Buddhist scriptures, and they have the same stories as the bible. What makes it so special?”

“Well, son, it was written by God.” The priest’s smile returned in full force.

“How do you know?” The priest’s smile faded into a frown, to match the boy’s seriousness. The priest could tell that he wasn’t going to stop.

“Faith, my son. I believe the Bible was written by god, and therefore I study it and live by it.” the priest talked slowly and deliberately, making sure to put some serious resonance in his voice.

“So you just believe? You don’t think about it? It’s really hard for me to believe that someone was eaten by a whale and lived, or that Jesus rose someone from the dead father. How can you just believe these things?” The boy looked concerned, confused, and frustrated, all at the same time.

“I do think about it son. But my faith is greater. So I believe in these godly. So that my soul can find eternal repose in Heaven, with God and Jesus.”

“Father, I just don’t understand. What if they are wrong and you have wasted your life worshipping Jesus as God when he was like you and me and Martin Luther King? A human, and not a God?”

“Son, now its my turn to play the skeptic.” As the priest spoke, a wry smile came to his lips, though it was a grin of understanding, rather than deceit.

“My boy, I can see God within you, even as we speak. His will is strong in you and the strong question, search, and decide for themselves. So I will tell you what I learned from Voltaire, ‘I believe in God because if he does exist, I will be eternally rewarded in heaven. If God does not exist, then there is nothing after death and my faith will have not mattered in the first place.’”

The boy looked strongly at the priest, as though he was deciding something. Then, without warning, he hugged the priest. “Thank you, father.”

Then the boy walked from the church, unconvinced and uncertain, but knowing that he could return whenever he needed to.

Questioning Faith Read More »

My Way of Doing “Art”

Leave a Comment / art, blogging, philosophy, Writing

I am finding myself looking for more and more ways to express myself. I quit my job at a big data firm a little over a year ago and decided to start teaching yoga; I think this was my first step into a much larger world of self-expression and performance based art. I’m not say that teaching a yoga class is a performance, but it is definitely entertainment to some degree. Even this blog is a type of performance, though I am not sure where it will go.

I have a lot of influences that I feel compelled to explain, to better understand where I am coming from when I create things.

We have to start this conversation in my childhood, because there are some core personality traits about me that you should understand. I almost perfectly fit the symptom categorization of someone with Attention Deficit Disorder; that is to say that I have a brain where my neurons keep my brain focused on background information rather than the stimuli that can keep a brain focused on an object. This is coupled with the ability to intensely focus on objects for smaller periods of time, that neurologists call hyper-focusing. Its like a muscle, you learn how to use it more and more as you get older, as long as you are aware of it. For a long time I was seeking the greatest stimulation for my mind, interactive media was a huge part of my life. But then I found yoga and detachment from my entire life and shifted towards a new dimension of my personality, a second language and seemingly predestined experiences in Europe.

I don’t think saying you have a destiny is selfish, even though it is definitely something that is focused on the ego. Having a purpose is the single greatest conundrum of all life; there is no justifiable or provable reason for existence. We explain all kinds of theory around what the possibilities are; indeed, mythology achieved this as we matured into societies and civilization, but this is still completely unknown to us. Even Descartes famous “proof” is nothing more than self-referring circular logic and there is no way to say that this is not one dream, inside of another. But in this vast sea of unknown, we have a beacon of hope, the brightest lights that exist in the known universe; we have consciousness.

Still unexplained, still undefined, consciousness is ever eluding; though modern neuroscientists have made extraordinary strides to define cognition, dysfunction, neurology, and the function of specific neurons in the brain. But the field of psychology is still young and barely 100 years old.

This story starts with my neurological make-up, as the biggest contributor to my art is my brain, and why I am different.

Be forewarned that this is a multi-article series that will be completed over time, but I have previewed the articles for you below.

Please check back soon for the completed articles:

ADD

When I was young, I did a lot of stupid shit. Like pouring water buckets onto other kids heads, or pushing kids off slides, or kicking my sister. I was a pretty wild kid, with a lot of energy and my mom would take me to the park a lot to run around and scream. This translated nicely when it came to sports, but in school, it was no-good. My first grade teacher was the first to say, he is disruptive but he seems to be learning the information just fine himself, he’s distracting the other children. Cue the dramatic music and thus begins my relationship with drugs, particularly amphetamine analogues, and this would continue into my 20s. But I was better at school. I even won student of the month. One time, in first grade. I don’t think I was a very good student, as far as the teachers were concerned though, I had great relationships with most of my younger teachers, but as I grew older I grew more disagreeable with my teachers.

Thinking Differently

I can’t remember when my interest with psychology started, but it was probably around 2nd or 3rd grade. I wasn’t yet aware of anything abnormal as far as my own prescription went because my parents were very good about assimilating my mindset to what I had to take. I took a lot of acupuncture herbs and feared those far more than Ritalin. But sports were how I learned to focus my attention, soccer was great at first, but I became passionate about basketball, in a big way. I was big compared to other kids when I was younger (wider, not thinner.) so I played a lot of contact sports, eventually leading to football and rugby. But my interest in video games would always compete with my love of sports, but eventually it led me to get a job in technology. I’ve always been good with computers, they just make sense to me.

Catholic Schools

I have a very unique relationship with Jesus and god, developed from being a part of the church when I was very young. I used to go every week, especially when I was younger and can remember the whole thing. Maybe it was going to Jesuit school for 8 years, but logically, the divinity of Christ doesn’t make sense to me, personally. I prefer to think of him like an ancient scientist, similar to Socrates, who unlocked ways to cure various ailments and psychology illnesses in the ancient world. There are a lot of useful symbols in the bible that are improperly analyzed due to being taken literally, or not worked on in Ancient Greek; in order to really understand the bible’s meaning, you have to understand the ancient greek that the bible was written in. Apart from that, I really believe that everyone should read the dead sea scrolls; it offers a very different and provocative view of Jesus, less of a god and more of a man. After all, god has to have been invented by humans, at least the recognition of the idea. This doesn’t mean it isn’t real, but that it is our adaptation, even the definition is inherently human, but the feeling of god is truly indescribable.

Video games

I still want to craft a light saber, Star Wars games were my favorite when I was younger, but my gaming history culminates with World of Warcraft. Think the whole 9 yards, raids, dungeons, guilds, even organizing raids and guilds at certain points, though I was never committed enough to really give 100% of my free time to the game, thankfully. But it is amazing how social games have become and I am waiting for the next big hit by playing Tales of Vesperia (an incredibly good xbox360 game, like a new age final fantasy or Zelda. I am also playing Geometry Wars: Retro Evolved, which is an eye orgasm it’s so beautiful, and Starcraft II, in very small dosages. But I want to get the next-gen systems just to play some of the higher production value games, such as Destiny or Titanfall, but I just love seeing the technology evolve. My story really starts with my first computer…

Drawing, reading, remote control vehicles, warhammer 40K, karate, and sports

Reading has always been a passion of mine, but I didn’t like classical literature until I learned French. In my formative school years, I used to get really bored and would draw curves and lines and eventually got somewhat okay at drawing, though I think I like chewing the pen caps more than making pictures. It was more of an excess energy kind of thing, where I couldn’t sit still so I would get engrossed into some random drawing, I think that still, whatever I am doing, I have to be engrossed in it. So I’ve had lots of side projects that I have loved, like making a model airplane from balsa wood and plastic sheeting with an engine I mounted and inserted myself. It was pretty epic, until the wind tossed it and threw it down onto the concrete to die in its first flight.

Weed and high school

I grew up in California, I have ADD, I’ve been doing drugs since I was six, and I really like to smoke a joint here and there. You can judge me all you want, but if you drink at all then I suggest you don’t. The whole idea of anything being a “drug” is silly to me, honestly, because we are chemicals. It is the foundation for all of matter in the universe and marijuana is a damn plant that you can smoke and it doesn’t cause lung cancer! I also tend to feel more at peace, relaxed, and generally happy when I am high. People have been using substances for performance enhancement since history. That has to mean something. After years of adderoll and ritalin, it calms me down now.

Art History

I have a favorite teacher, out of anyone I’ve ever met, and the dude is crazy; both cool and smart. He is really the first person that taught me how to “see” to how to begin to take the pieces apart of something abstract and put it back together with meaning. This is what I believe true art is: reconstruction of an idea through the creation of an experience in the mind of a perceiver. The best experiences are the ones that you are in control of; something that art is just beginning to understand. I started off as a freshman in the Ancient Civilizations class and learned about the Olmec culture, Aztecs, Mayans, and some of the coolest ancient architecture (art was mostly architecture back in the day, at least that’s what we still have) in the world. But this was just beginning to learn to understand Matisse, Duchamp, and the most influential artists of history. It only increased in velocity as I graduated from high school and moved to Spokane to my first major depression, then Paris with my first love and visiting Monet’s Gardens together in the spring.

Yoga Experiences

I stepped into my first studio when I was 20, with my mom. It was an immediate attraction; the challenge and difficulty were perfect. I had done cross-fit with Dan Bunz a few times and had worked really hard at basketball and was a successful rugby player, but I had never felt anything like what these yoga poses were doing to me. I felt, invincible, so strong and I’m sure that I was. That first summer I spent most days in the hot rooms of East Wind Auburn and East Wind Roseville. Scott and Ryan were incredible teachers, so physical and mindful in their teaching practices. I was given some gifts to continue my practice while I travelled, a mat from my mom and a copy of the Baghava Gita, some meditations, and one recorded class from Rusty Wells and one recorded class from Bryan Kest. Those things together, changed my life while I was in Paris. I delved into the past to find why the West had developed to become what it is and fell in love with a harsh, cold, and beautifully ancient city perfect for a 20-year-old American (I got to drink all the time and my b-day wasn’t even that big of a deal!)

Paris, Amsterdam, and death in Poland

Some powerful experiences in my life occurred in Poland, Paris, and the year I spent in Europe. My best friend is from Nandy, which is just outside of Paris, and he is really the reason why I got into French, so I learn to communicate with my friend. It became a minor in college and then I decided to switch my major from business to French so that I could spent both semesters of my junior year in Paris, instead of just the first one. This ended up being an extremely powerful life-altering decision, as I met my first love at the beginning of the second semester, I think that it was even the night that I returned to Paris from returning home for Winter break. Let’s just say that it’s really hard for me to believe in coincidences at this point, because my first girl was perfect for me at that time and I think we were exactly what each other needed, especially after I got back from Poland. I needed to believe in love again. Needless to say the relationship continued, but this vastly altered my previously formed friendships with people from all over the globe (Algeria, Morocco, England, Columbia, Martinique, China, India, Germany, Spain, really there was more diversity there than I have ever experienced and it was astonishingly refreshing. I couldn’t spend as much time playing video games with my Columbia friend, then smoking a smidgen of hash and going out to drink that night.

Love and my first girlfriend

My first relationship was really the death of my idealism for love and marriage. I honestly though I would only love one person, ever, for my entire life. I don’t think that love works that way for me, its more of a spectrum, where I have varying degrees of respect and factors of attraction that aim at a happy medium of stimulation and stillness. To be honest, you can love someone and know that it can’t work for you and that what happened to me. It’s hard to explain feeling like that, but while I was in Boston, for those two years, I became really unhappy. It wasn’t just my girlfriend, but my first time being in a cubicle, stuck, at the bottom of the company, a nobody that didn’t make very much at all. It felt like the brakes had been strapped on me for the first time in my life and I retreated deep into video games, my yoga practice was forgotten for the first time in a year. But I was happy, for a time.

End College and Work

Its funny, it took moving across the world for me to finally start doing my work and pushing myself in school. I got to France ready to know it all and found myself embarrassingly bad at French for having studied it for seven years. Over the first four months especially, I worked every day translating with my dictionary and would go to my best friend’s house to practice speaking and listen to their fluent conversations that would catapult me to extremely high levels of understanding of the familiar and spoken aspects of the language. This is how I got my first real job in Boston, I was bilingual and technologically savvy so I was hired to do French customer support for their expanding international data division.

Quitting Work

I left work as a product manager, the product owner of an engineering team with five member that absolutely sprinted across finish lines and was extremely fun to work with. I think I am difficult to manage, though I do try really hard, but sometimes its just in my nature to rebel against authority, especially when I have none. I am not too sure I can work for someone else, my passion leads me to put everything I am into what I am doing, this is not so good for a work/life balance, so I looked for better ways to balance myself through teaching yoga, which has been an incredibly great experience both grounding and enlightening.

Getting into writing, then painting, then music

At the same time I teach yoga, I am learning to express myself in new ways. This blog is definitely one of those, but I really don’t like to limit my mediums. I am so glad that I started doing this every few days a year ago, it is very personally fulfilling and I would recommend getting your own blog if you like writing, for yourself. So I write, mostly, though right now I can’t stop making music so I am mostly doing that. I also paint, as you might have seen from my latest completed painting and work towards Matisse, Van Gogh, and Impressionistic surrealism. I love to write and actually have a world that I am waiting to write more about, until I become a bit better at writing conflict. I don’t believe that focusing on just one medium is something I can accomplish, though I do spend the majority of my focus on yoga then do this stuff on the side, as temporary projects mostly that I work on sporadically.

Music

Music is different for me, I am not even looking to create rhythm or beat at this point, but to work with specific frequencies and to learn to control the Ableton Live software. But I am finding myself absolutely in love with making the music and adjusting waveforms and learning more about the software and am spending multiple hours every day working on new music. I am not sure, but if I continue to spend this much time on production and sound design, it will probably be what I develop the most alongside my yoga, next to continuing to write. Painting is not something that I feel compelled to do often, but music is something I naturally do every day anyways, and I have an enormous appetite for music, most particularly electronic music. My time at the clubs in Paris paid off and I listened to the Human After All album the entire time I was in the Paris subway, it was pretty awesome. But I am looking now to start making dance music as opposed to experimental ambient music and hopefully I will have something good soon! I bought an APC20 for $50 from Guitar Center so I am looking forward to Monday when it arrives. Oh, and my album on kickstarter failed to get funded, I guess that’s what I get for not spamming my facebook friends with it. I believe in Karma in a big way, so I am just going to keep spending time that makes me feel awesome working hard to make something cool.

My Way of Doing “Art” Read More »

The Wanderer

28 Comments / philosophy, storytelling, Wanderer Series, Writing

This is a short story that I originally wrote as a stand-alone short and has turned into a series. It is influenced by the Yamas, most particularly Satya, truth.

There once was a wandering sage who had given up all of his possessions to know and be one with god. When the old man arrived in the desert village where he would spend the night, a young boy asked him why he wandered. The older man, strong but weathered from the harsh sun replied with an eery silence, “I search for god.” The boy was in awe. He spoke simply, slowly, and with the great conviction of a lifelong quest. The old man looked up at the sun and smiled. The boy had never seen such peace before.

The boy started to talk to this man when he returned from the desert, as he begged in the main streets of desert towns. He only returned from time to time, but the boy found him to be full of great wisdom. The man had nothing and took only what he needed to survive in the harsh desert outside of the villages and he claimed to be free of the material world. One day when he returned to the village, he met the young man and they spoke of that day the sage had spoken of his quest to god. He was entranced by his quest for perfect stillness and pure bliss. The boy said he wished to follow the sage as he wandered and the old man agreed.

“But first”, the sage said, “you must say farewell to your mother and father and tell them about the journey you wish to embark upon. Only with their blessing, may you follow my footsteps as you please.”

So the boy left the sage to fulfill his charge so he could leave to find god with this great sage who was quieter and slower than anyone he had met.

First the boy decided that he would said goodbye to his father, thinking it would be easier than talking to his mother. The sage waited outside the village, silent in the harsh desert while the sun set with his eyes unmoving on the sun. Pink and orange spilled over the horizon with the dying day.

The boy rushed home, excited to depart and tell his parents of the news. But to his surprise, his father replied sullenly and sadly when he learned of his son’s intentions, “So you wish to know god, do you? What do you feel you are missing here? You could stay with us and learn from the few books we have collected of the great gods of the epics.” But the boy was not pleased and hung his head for a moment. He took a step towards the door to leave, but his father spoke in a pleading tone.

“Please son, don’t leave. I fear you will find nothing out in the harsh elements but suffering and death. Learn to herd and farm and raise a family, like your ancestors before you.”

“But father,” the young-man replied soberly, “I must learn about myself and my world!” He continued speaking in more of a whisper than his full voice, as if it were partially a secret. “There is so much out there and I know so little! I met a sage in the village today and he is on a journey to find god! He looks at the sun as pure bliss and he has no worries, no chores, no pigs to feed, and no one to look after. He wanders from place to place and seems to be at peace with everything! He is wise father, he said he needs nothing!”

Father chuckled sadly at his son’s enthusiasm, “He is wise you say? What has he taught you? Did he tell you that everything that you see is a reflection of what is inside of you. And inside of you, there is a powerful spark of light, some call it god, others call it other things. This light is the same light as the light you see in the sleeping sky, winking at you from their places in heaven. You don’t need to go anywhere to find this thing you call god. Did this sage trick you into following him? Why are you so set on this mission of yours?”

“No, I asked him if I could follow him.” the son retorted. He was angry now, and sick of his father’s cryptic messages. He did not see a light inside of himself as his father had said. His voice heightened with sarcasm, “If god is already inside of me, why do the sages travel in pilgrimages, why do people retreat to mountains to find enlightenment, what is the point of seeing the world? Why do even the most powerful men bow and pray and sacrifice to the gods? Certain places are more sacred than others are they not? Do you really think these people do all of these things for nothing?” The son threw up his hands in despair.

His father replied slowly, “God is in everything son. Some people see god clearer when they are in a specific place, or doing a specific thing. Sometimes, it is when they feel the most alive.” Father sighed heavily, as if resigning his conclusion, “I grow saddened by your malcontent. You are searching for what is right in front of you!”

But at this the son grew angry. His father obviously did not understand. “Then why is there suffering father? Why do people get sick, die, and live in pain? Why is there disease, evil, scarcity, and poison? If god is inside of us, why do we hurt so much, all the time? Why isn’t everything prosperous and fruitful? Why do men travel to mountains and rivers and shrines and holy places to find god if he is just there inside! It doesn’t make any sense! I want a life of little suffering and I want to free myself from this weight I feel each and every day.”

At this, his father grew thoughtful and bowed his head in contemplation. “How many of these men have found what they were looking for, son? Have you even asked this sage if he knows god? Has his wandering and begging borne fruit? Listen closely son, men are full of lies and deceit and greed. Do not trust them, even this sage, whom you think has found the answers you are searching for. Each will serve himself more than he serves you.” He paused again, this time he examined his son, and his eyes teared as he spoke. “You must serve yourself, I understand. I will sorely miss you, son. You are my greatest love, the fruit of my life and I wish you prosperity and success in your journey to god. Listen for one last thing before you go. I believe that we hurt because we are meant to learn, my son. But the lessons are up to you. Perhaps this is what you must learn. I love you my son, someday, remember that you are always welcome here.”

The father smiled and embraced his son with all of his spirit, but the son was now simply confused and even more frustrated, his father didn’t make any sense. He was simply done with his nonsensical non-theology and was ready to say goodbye to his mother. He hugged his father back and felt warmth spread through his body as his frustration melted and he realized that he might not see his father again for a long time. Tears began to fall and they found themselves shaking for a moment in their sorrow. The son turned to leave, surer than ever of his path to freedom and bliss.

The boy’s excitement at the idea of journeying with the sage didn’t fade and he went into his mother’s room, the only other room in the house, to speak with her.

When he walked in, his mother quickly wiped her eyes, she had obviously overheard the father. She embraced her son immediately and cried into his now strong chest and arms; he was now a full six inches taller than her. He was days away from the final ceremony of manhood in the village, but he would leave all that behind. After a minute of holding his mother, he wiped her eyes with his sleeve and told her that he would return someday. He felt an intense sorrow begin to come over him, but he would not be swayed from his quest.

She replied harshly, much to the son’s surprise, “Do not speak to me of the future, unknown and meaningless. I want to spend time with my only son! Are you really leaving me here? Why do you leave your father and me, your family to follow this man whom you know nothing of? What has he found but despair and poverty in the harshness of the desert sun?”

“He searches for god!” the son exclaimed. “Mother, please understand. I wish to find god, I do not want to ordinary, boring life of a shepherd! I want to be free of this miserable suffering to live eternal bliss! This sage will lead me to freedom and lead me from this boring life.”

At this his mother let out a brief sigh. “Then you must leave my son. But remember to follow your heart, above all else, it will tell you where you need to go.” And she embraced her son for a long soft hug. It made the boy sad to see his mother in tears, but he was convinced of his quest. Then, the boy left into the darkening sky, now a faded purple with stars beginning to shimmer in the growing darkness.

The parents were saddened, but days, then weeks, then months and years passed. Their son did not return home. After a decade, he had still not returned and they gave him up for dead. Many of their friends had died on similar quests to find god, so they assumed death had claimed their son.

But one day, the once boy, now a man wandered into their small village. He met his mother’s eyes and she immediately ran to him and embraced him so fully that he dropped his begging bowl. The porcelain shattered on the hard ground. Tears flowed from their eyes onto the sandy ground, tears of joy. It had been more than 11 years since his departure.

He stood under the village gate as his parents looked questioningly at their forgotten son; it was obvious that he had suffered, there were scars on his back, his lips were cracking, and he was so thin that you could easily make out the bones of his body.

“I have returned!” he spoke with enthusiasm through the obvious weakness. His voice was ragged as his clothes.

They fed him water and the man who was once their young son spoke slowly, pain obvious in his voice. They clothed him and his mother bathed his sores and cuts and cooled his fever. That night, the son rose to speak with his father. He met his father to watch the stars of the darkness fly in the sky and they walked outside of the village, into the border of the now cooled dunes.

The son spoke after a time, in a voice sure and slow, “It took ten years of wandering the desert with nothing, following sage after sage to understand what I was looking for. I found misery, suffering, and greed. Even sages take and lie, sometimes. We are all seemingly bound by our humanity. Father, you were right, each man who I followed took from me to feed himself when it came down to a choice between him and me. This happened until I decided that I would feed myself first. But no one would feed me before I did. I found nothing that I was looking for, but suffering and death and luckily not my own.” The son looked into his father’s eyes to see tears dropping on the floor.

The son smiled and embraced his father, “You are my truest teacher. No sage led me to god, the only answers I found were those that I concluded. I think I had to see what god was not before I could see clearly what god really is. Wandering this place forced me to learn what was truly in my heart by stepping away from things that I loved dearest.”

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