A Discipline

Tai Chi is a discipline, a martial art and an exercise. A discipline for the mind, a martial art for coordination and control and an exercise for the body. For 7 years I'd followed this path and each year I had set a stone in my garden creating a path of chakra colors that led to a waterfall and pool made of stone. It was a place to meditate. At the center of the waterfall I had placed stones representing the crown chakra and the brow chakra, or the Third Eye. For the brow chakra I had set a polished lapis luzuli in place and above that, for the crown chakra I have used a polished amethyst, a violet crystal representing enlightenment.

Some of the people who had know me in the past would be incredulous to see what I had built and how I had lived these last 7 years. But each stone I had set in place meant something to me. A stone for each year. A color for each chakra. To me, it meant more than a garden path and a meditation pool. It represented seven years that I had followed this path seeking peace and enlightenment.

The scent of roses and lilac blossoms filled the air. I could hear the distinct drone of bees as they harvested the flowers for their hive was near by. These years had been the best years of my life. A deep sense of peace enveloped me as I sat in the garden that evening. I would need to lay five more stones before the path would stretch all the way to the back gate. Five stones, five years. The time would past pleasantly.

It was a good goal, I thought, and getting up I went to the work table and examined the new stone. Red Jasper. A good choice and a good piece of stone. I would slice it into two inch slabs, polish the pieces and cement them into a two foot by two foot steeping stone. Next year, on my anniversary, I would set it in place. The first steeping stone towards the gate. Nodding with satisfaction I went in to prepare my dinner.

Some fish, some rice, a few vegetables made for a simple supper. I liked to keep things simple. After supper, if the light held, I'd oil and grease the rock saw. Maybe check out the blade by cutting a few slabs. As the tea kettle began to whistle the door bell rang. With a sigh I turned down the stove and went to answer the door. How did anyone get to the door? Had I forgotten to lock the gate? As I opened the door the sun was directly in my eyes. I had to squint to make out the face of the man standing in front of me.

He stood there with a 36" bolt cutter slung over his shoulder smiling at me and dropped the pieces of my lock onto the floor. "What! Don't want to see old your friends anymore?" he asked. "Well, are you going to ask me in or not?" he demanded.

"No. I'm not" I replied and closed the door and walked away. As I stood in the kitchen pouring steaming water into the teapot the door was flung open. I would not allow my peace to be destroyed. This would end. I would be like the mountain, unmovable.

"Can we talk?" he asked and set a bottle of wine on the table.

"No. I don't do that kind of work anymore." I picked up the wine grabbed him by the arm, steered him to the door and shut and locked it firmly in his face. Tonight I would go out get another lock. I would reactivate the electric fence and the surveillance system. This would end.

But it didn't. He made his presence known every day. On Saturday, at 6:30 am I pulled out of my driveway heading to the farmers market. He followed me to the market and stood idly by trying to rile me up. I was going to have to think about this.

His name was Peters and long ago we had worked for the same company as contract workers specializing in security. Apparently they wanted something from me that they knew I wouldn't want to give. So they sent him. If I didn't give them what they wanted how would they follow up?

What could I do? I could ignore him. I could take a trip or go camping and hope that he'd give up. I could go to court. He was sadistic enough to hang around for a very long time. I could move, but I didn't want to stir up my wanderlust again. This was my home now. I could forget the last seven years and resort to violence.

Then I had an idea. He was a man puffed with pride; competitive, aggressive and bad tempered. A man who would not be bested. The next morning I made my camping gear, food and water into a tight pack. Walking stick in hand I drove to the edge of the hills and parked. Then I walked into the foot hills. I knew that he'd follow.

These hills held some of the roughest terrain in the world. There was no cell phone coverage. The gorges, hills and brush prevented air surveillance. A donkey might get in but how would you water it? I could only be followed on foot.

I had grown up in this world and was still young. I could hold back on the water. I found what I needed in small hidden places. He dogged my steps for three or four days then I lost track of him. A week later I walked out and went home. It's been six months and I haven't heard from him, or the company.