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There once lived a man on the outskirts of a small village tucked away in the green mountains amidst the leaf and bush. He had been a troubled man and was almost certain that his craft to master in life was the art of attending to a troublesome mind. He walked the earth along its river banks, his feet bare and covered in the dark murky soil usually found in such places. Every step was an intimate bond between man and earth as if the soil which stained bare feet black served as a witness to any who cared to notice.

 

Day after day he would seek the river’s calm, tranquil serenity to bring peace into his thoughts and make sense of the troublesome questions that burdened him. Quite often he would cast a baited line out into the waters while he waited for time to come and go as it was known to do, with precise diligence and reliability. It was during such passing of times that some of the man’s difficult questions were answered.

One afternoon the man felt hungry and he paused for a moment to wonder why many men walked the world in hunger. The river gracefully sympathized with her friend and answered him with wisdom and a comical simplicity as the line gave a tug and two fish were pulled forth from the river’s natural flow of life. It was a gift.

 

The sun was beginning to set, casting random shades of orange, purples and blues at the world in proclamation and he wondered to himself why things had to be so complicated when in his heart he felt that life could be so simple. If a man hungers, does he not deserve to be fed? If he is injured, do his wounds not deserve mending? What makes a man who thirsts more deserving of precious drink than his brother whom also thirsts? How simple a task to draw from well or spring as we are not denied such fruits, yet we selfishly keep them for ourselves. He yearned for such simplicity the way an infant yearns for the soft, gentle touch of its mother and is finally wrapped in the familiar scent of comfort only a mother can offer her child. It was this feeling of comfort that he so desperately sought out, yet everywhere he turned there were signs of greed, suffering, oppression and sadness. He felt its burden whether it was or was not his own to bear.

Sometimes he wished that he could go about his days the way other people in the village had done. How appealingly convenient life would be to exchange love and kindness for defensive indifference? It was almost embarrassing- shameful even, to have such feelings. He knew he could never allow himself to become so selfish but at the same time, as though he were guilty of some sinful pleasure, he envied it. The other villagers were far too busy for such thoughts and were only concerned with their own affairs, dragging their feet to the same monotonous routine with no self awareness.

A memory of the past came to him, and he recalled an old tramp who had wandered into the village.

The fellow was tired and strength had abandoned him altogether as he struggled to navigate his way through a crowd. He attempted with to beg for food and drink as people made every possible effort to avoid him, uncomfortable by his presence. When at last the crowd had dispersed in a unified gesture of rejection, he was alone. A group of local children had spotted the beggar when the oldest one picked up a stone by his feet and cast it at the unfortunate vagabond, striking him in the cheek while the others began to take part in his cruelty without giving any thought to their actions.

 

He rushed over to aid the old man and en route was struck in the head with a stone flung by the same older boy who had initiated the sport. Anger had overtaken him and his face flushed with rage. In an instant he darted for the boys and smacked a stone out of the oldest one’s hand before he got the satisfaction of striking another blow. As he began to chase the boys off, another villager had seen his attack and a group of men were starting in his direction. This time his thoughts would not be the only troubles he would face, and with a swift shove in mid stride one of the men sent him face first into the ground. Like the younger children, the men had followed in example and proceeded to discipline him where he lay. His initial attacker spat at him and then turned his attention to the old beggar. Once again, the old man would receive punishment; this time there would be no intervention.

 

He remembered this day well and by the time he became aware of himself again, tears were running down his cheeks as he felt a tightness in his throat begin to grow that would not give way. His memories had brought back the same pain and heartache that overwhelmed him so dearly, as he was forced to watch the old man endure a terrible injustice. Guilt had branded itself upon him along with a sickening responsibility that he felt pressing down on his shoulders. On that painful day he too had become a beggar, sobbing on the ground- crying out for a stranger’s forgiveness.

 

 

With his eyes closed and tears still forming, he began softly whispering the words “I’m sorry”, while he embraced the softness of the grass underneath his face. He listened closely to the sounds of the night and finally allowed himself to drift away with a passing breeze that softly flowed over a damp cheek, bidding him goodnight.