A Man Alone

Once a man devoid of beliefs suddenly realized what glory was absent from his life: 'A miracle - ' he began, pulling truth out of the common depths of his mind. 'A miracle is anything that increases your faith.' Pausing, he smiled at his cleverness. Charming. His two companions angled away from him, puzzled by his words but not enough to stay within the circle of his silence. Silence, he thought, is a deep well, ancient and almost empty, but it still makes an offer to one paying attention: 'Here, quench your thirst and rest.' The man's thoughts, liquid, fleet, weightless, unburdened by the drag of doubt, unhurried by the lash of faith, were poised between action and non-action. He was ready to proceed upon a path of his own design, or to stay in that place of awareness his senses found congenial. He chose to proceed. Waving to his departed friends with a smiling gesture of dismissal, he took the first steps, beyond silence and speech, into a newer realm, whose rules and customs he would learn. He might ascend a stage and shine with his peculiar radiance, or remain below in the fragrance of things, stationary, yet growing. When servants of the local ruler found him, the line of his vision was just below the sun, encompassing trees and shrubs, birds and forest animals, workhorses and machines, and people in their complex interplay of emotions and reason. The servants declared his survival a miracle, and he agreed ruefully.