A Chance Encounter

         For the past eight years, he has lived alone in the wilderness.  The sun, which he meditates beneath for twelve hours a day, has permanently cracked his lips, and baked his skin a dark chocolate brown.  His once short dark hair has become disheveled and has turned white with age.  His only clothes have now become little more than tattered rags.  All the food that is needed is found within the hills and woodlands in which he lives, and carved wooden bowls are set out to collect rain water to wet his lips.  He is what the Hindu’s would call a sannyasin, an ascetic, yet he is not a Hindu, but a devout Catholic.

         As a prominent Catholic leader, there was great confusion amongst his congregation as to his motives for abandoning his flock.  During the initial stages of his parting, there had been great distress for the well being of their Priest, as he was all that they knew.  Members of his old congregation would walk through the hills in hopes of talking sense into the old man.  Those who happened to find him were dismayed at his appearance and loss of weight.  While they spewed forth their common sense and religious phrases, the old man sat cross-legged in the searing midday sun.  Emptiness filled his body and mind.  Once frustration set in, their common sense and religious utterings inevitably turned to cursings.  They would return home to their families and declare the priest to be mad.  Their concern quickly grew into distaste, which led to a community wide ridicule of their old shepherd. 
 
              Although he had no family, no wife or children, he did have some earthly possessions.  For months after the old man's abandonment of his old way of life, the church community held his property and possessions in trust until his eventual return.  When that day seemed to never arrive, all of his property and possessions were promptly liquidated into the church itself.  Just as quickly as he had left, the congregation replaced him with another priest who quickly led the church in the old man’s damnation.  “He has turned his back on the Almighty One . . .” the young priest would preach.  “Just like Judas who turned his back on our Lord Jesus Christ, so too will he suffer never ending torment. . . .”  It was in this way that the old man was forced out of the memories of his congregation.  For them, he was nothing more than a distant shadow; an itch at the back of their minds.   

         It was a cool morning when the old man awoke.  As usual, he was tired and his body was aching, but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind.  For years now, it was his morning ritual to climb out of the earthy cave which he now called home, and collect edible berries and roots from the surrounding wilderness that would sustain him for the day.  It had just recently rained a few days ago, and he still had two of his collection bowls full of water.  As he passed the first of the two, wedged into a crevice at head height, he reached up and took mouthful large enough to wet his cracked lips and dry throat.  With that, he walked into the dense forest to collect his food for the day.

         It was when the sun was at its highest peak that he heard the rustling for the first time.  It was during his meditation that his senses were at their peak.  The slither of a snake or a flutter of a bird’s wing sounded like thunder to the old man’s ears.  But this rustling was no animal as it was too clumsy, and when most of the wildlife in the surroundings sensed his presence, they typically sank back into the trees from where they came.  There was no doubt in his mind that there was someone in the shrubs behind him, and whoever it was, that someone was trying to sneak up on him without being noticed.  It had been years since he had seen another human being.

          There was a sudden eruption from behind the old man as someone exploded out from behind a group of bushes.  For eight years, nothing had disrupted the man’s meditation, and this sudden disturbance had no effect on the man.  Every muscle in his body remained motionless, not even a twitch escaped his control, and his eyes were locked forward in deep concentration, dissecting the atoms of the universe.  Even the barrel of the pistol against his right temple did nothing to stifle his meditation.

         “Don’t you dare move, or I will blow your goddamn brains out!”  The stranger yelled in the man’s ear as he pressed the gun harder into the old man's temple.  “Who are you, and what are you doing up here?” 

         There was nothing but silence from the old man who remained locked in his position.  If there was any acknowledgement of his disruption, he did not show it physically.  There was a burning sensation deep beneath his unconscious mind that interpreted the actions of this unknown person as a test for the old man.  A test of faith or perhaps a test of devotion.

         “Did you not hear me, old man?”  The stranger stepped in front of the cross-legged figure and pointed the gun between the old man’s eyes.  It was then that a small part of the old man’s perception returned to him.  Not because of fear of the impending violence, but rather the deep wound that the young man had recently suffered in his shoulder.  What appeared to be a bullet wound was oozing blood down the man’s arm.  Perhaps it was the sudden burst towards the old man, or maybe it was his journey through the woods that had caused him to lose his strength.  No sooner was he in front of the old man did he collapse.  It was only then that the old man’s full concentration returned, and his mind once again reached a state of emptiness.  He meditated until the sun dipped into the distant horizon.

          The young man awoke the next morning to find himself deep within an unlit cave.  The only light trickled in through the mouth of the cave, which helped the young man to figure out his whereabouts.  He tried to sit up, but a sudden sense of nausea forced him back down.  He glanced over at his numb shoulder and found it to be tightly wrapped with a long cloth.  It was then that he realized that the cloth was actually the remains of the shirt that he had been wearing.  He slowly sat up again, fighting the overwhelming sense of nausea, and started to finger the bandages to discover the severity of the wound that he had suffered.

          “Leave it be,” came the crackled voice of the old man as he returned to the cave.  “You’ll disturb the geranium leaves.”  His throat ached from speaking for the first time in years.  “Drink this.”  The old man demanded as he tipped a bowl of water into the man’s mouth.

          “Who are you?  How did I get here?”  The young man asked as he returned to his position on the hard cave floor.

          “Too many questions,” the old man said.  “Eat these and come out when the nausea subsides.”  He pushed another bowl full of berries towards the man and walked out of the cave.

            It was nearly night time when the young man finally pulled himself out of the cave opening.  He grasped the sides of the cave wall for balance, and shielded his eyes from the sun's remaining rays.  For the most part, the nausea had weakened, yet left the man with a pulsing headache.  The numbness of his shoulder was slowly being exchanged for the pain of the bandaged wound. 

          “Come sit.”  The old man said without turning his head to the stranger.  The young man stumbled next to the old man who was sitting staring at the sun setting into the distant hills. 

          “Where is my gun?”  the man asked.

          “About a mile that way.”  The old man pointed into the distant forest. 

          “Why shouldn’t I kill you right now?”  The young man said in a grim voice.

          “You can do whatever you like.”  Responded the old man.  “Who am I to tell you what you should or should not do?”

          “Why are you up here, anyway?”  The young man asked.  “And who are you?”

            The old man glanced up at the stranger next to him and their eyes met for the first time.  At the instant that he looked into the eyes of the man he had nearly killed.  Something burned deep inside of his soul.  The old man’s eyes were like black holes sucking at his very essence.  If the old man had not turned back to the sunset at that exact moment, the young man knew he would be lost forever swimming in pools of nothingness.  The young man gave his head a shake and sat down next to the old man.

          “My name is Peter.”  The young man said.  “Friends call me Pete.”

          “The cock shall soon crow thrice,” responded the old man. 

            There was a silence that lasted for an eternity between Peter and old man.  It was not in the nature of most men like Peter to remain silent for extended periods of time, but for the old man, time no longer existed.  Seconds, minutes, hours, days, decades, centuries, millennia.  These were all simple constraints that man had placed onto himself to control the wandering mind.  The mind is a dangerous thing, and without proper control, there is no limit to its capabilities, or its evolution.  For a mind that upholds such constrictions, the period of silence between the two men was maddening. 

            “I think I hurt someone.”  Peter blurted out.  “That’s why I came here.”  He looked towards the old man who remained focus on the setting sun.  “It was just a robbery.  Nothing to kill someone over, but she had a gun.  Pulled it out from behind the counter and just started to shoot.”  His hand reached up to his aching shoulder.  “That’s how this happened.”  He paused for a reaction from the old man knowing there wouldn’t be one.  “My legs buckled as the searing heat erupted in my shoulder.  I was only down for a moment, but I could already hear the sirens approaching.  I climbed to my feet and ran.  My lungs burnt in my chest  I moved from one shadow to the next.  I eventually made my way here.”  Peter finished his tale as the sun hovered slightly above the dark horizon. 

            “When the sun sets, you will return to the cave and sleep.”  The old man declared.  “In the morning, I will have food waiting for you like I did today.”  The old man paused for a moment.  “After that, you must return to the city and turn yourself in.”  The man’s voice was monotone, reeking of detachment.

            “I can’t go back.  I have to keep running.”

            “No.”  The old man’s voice was harsh and stern.  “You will turn yourself in because it is the right thing to do.  One must reap what one sows.”

            “I don’t think you get it, old man.”  The kid paused for a moment.  “Wait a minute.  What are you even doing out here?  Why don’t you go home?”  Peter questioned the old man.

            “You don’t know anything about anything.”  The old man responded.

            “No, seriously though.”  Peter’s tone intensified.  “What are you running from?”

            The Old man took a deep breath in and released it in a sigh of relief.  It had been many years since he had been tested so thoroughly by the demands of this child.  “Everyone runs from something, Peter.  I have been running all my life.  Everything was but one fallacy after another.  Running from the truth that I knew I refused to understand.”  The sun dipped below the surface of the distant horizon leaving on thin beams of lights streaming through the purples and oranges of the twilight sky.  “This is my home Peter.  It took a long time to discover the true nature of our Lord.  This is where there is a connection between myself and God.  Once nothing exists, there is only He.”  A sense of humility washed over Peter as he sat in silence next to the old man.  The sun made its final attempt to remain afloat before it sank into the darkness of the evening sky.  “We all have our paths,” the old man continued, “and your path does not lead here.  This is why you will return in the morning.” 

          “I can’t make any promises but . . .” Peter’s voice trailed off, making his defeat appear that much more apparent.

         For the first time since midday, the old man rose from his sitting position.  He raised his arms high above his head, stretching his back and arms, and then brought them straight down placing his palms on the ground.  “It is time you return to the cave for rest.”  He reached down and pulled Peter to his feet.  “That bandage is only temporary.  If nothing else, you need to seek medical treatment in the morning.  There will be food and water waiting for you in the morning. “

         “But where will you stay tonight?”  Peter asked the old man.  He had been led to the mouth of the cave with no resistance. 

         “It is of little concern for you,” the old man began to walk into the darkness of the forest, “but I will be in the forest meditating in the moon light.”  His voice faded as he disappeared into the night. 

         As the old man had promised, he left Peter a bowl full of berries and herbs and his last bowl of water.  It would be a while until rain would again come to the hills, and the old man knew his endurance would be tested.  The little water he received from the berries would have to sustain him for the days to come.  When he again returned to the cave at midday to check on the boy, all he had found was two empty bowls.  There was perhaps a part of his old life remaining that would have liked the boy to stay, yet he was not surprised to see him gone.  After all the years of calling the solitary confinement of the forest home, he had learned the sounds of the forest and its inhabitants, yet for some reason the sounds of the boy leaving him had escaped his attention.

         It was not until mid-afternoon that the thirst had come to the throat of the old man.  His body remained motionless in his cross-legged position as the raw burning sensation erupted in the esophagus.  He had hoped the burning would not come until at least the second day of meditation, yet the meeting between Peter and himself had left him with a slight degree of physical awareness.  He had surpassed greater challenges in the past few years, and his throat would have to wait until the evening for the old man to find some soothing herbs.

         By the time the sun had reached its highest point in the sky and began to make its slow descent, the old man’s pain subsided into itself.  As the man reverted to a state of nothingness, he was transformed into an empty vessel for the universe.  Deep below his subconscious mind, a voice alien from his own asked, “Do you think the boy will be all right?”  The old man’s subconscious mind collapsed into itself and replied, “Yes, he will be now.”