the old man and the young woman

Neptune and Triton; the old man and the young woman

The day was hot and sunny. It was a late summer afternoon. A breeze came up the hill from the sea below.

An old man made his way up the hill. Slowly, to the inner rhythm of his own nature. His gray-blue eyes sparkled and a smile creased his face. His clothes were edge-worn, yet had the look of long years of care. He loosely grasped a wooden cane with a rainbow of threads woven around the handle. His gait had purpose as he gazed softly at everything he passed.

A young man and woman hurried down the hill, pushing and shoving, laughing and smoking cigarettes. They wore sunglasses and the latest in neoplastic fashion; there seemed to be corners at their shoulders. The young man took off his glasses and pushed the girl into the path of the old man. She cursed and whipped around, causing the old man to halt his progress. She laughed nervously and shot a look of derision over her sunglasses towards the young man. The young man smiled, animal-like, and looking down at the old man said, "Who are you, old man?"

"Who am I?" the old man echoed back, smiling at the young man. "I am! And yet, a meaning maker, after all." His eyes glistened. "I am swimming in a sea of Love, where it is never too late!" He laughed and chortled in his white beard, a softness in his expression.

The young man made rude, threatening gestures and screamed angrily, "Ah, you're just a crazy old man!" The young man grabbed the girl by the arm, pulling her to him as he strutted down the hill. She resisted slightly, staring back at the old man with a curious look.

The old man had turned, watching them hurry by, and said, "That I am, yes, that I am!" The old man continued his walk up the hill.

The old man sat down at a bus stop to rest, looking up at the billowing clouds above. The young girl came running back, stopping before him. Her breathing was loud and raspy from years of smoking. She took off her sunglasses and asked, "Whad’dya mean, a meaning maker? That's crazy talk!" She cocked her head to one side with a quizzical look.

The old man looked up at her, smiling. He said, "Oh my dear daughter, the place that I am sitting, He makes this place for me. The thoughts that I am thinking, He makes those thoughts for me. The sights and sounds that I am seeing and hearing, He makes those sights and sounds for me."

The old man paused and watched a starling dance in the sky, catching a bug in the breeze. He looked at her and continued, "What is not His, my daughter? What you see and hear makes you feel separate and alone. Even when walking and bustling past others in the street, you feel separate and oh, so lonely." She crossed her arms on her chest defiantly. "Even this is His gift; all are translucent atoms twirling and whirling in and out of existence; the dance of Alive, the dance of Nature, the dance of Love!"

"Let go, dearest daughter, let go of your loneliness and shame." He smiled tenderly. Her arms now hung at her sides and she looked down at the ground. "You are becoming what you ought to be! Knower and known—you are the original face, full of His grace! Let go to the beautiful Alive, dear daughter." The old man closed his eyes, as if in prayer.

She sat beside him. She felt an unusual peace. She looked up at the clouds, then said, "How do I know if what you say is true?" she queried. The old man opened his eyes and looked at her. Then he continued, "Your mind is an instrument for your particular research while you are here. It is duality-based and doubt is its main condition. It is a good tool as far as it goes, but the Heart"—he grinned, eyes sparkling—"yes, the Heart, that is the place where Love and Peace and Joy reside, my dear daughter. That is the place where God sits, and where the courage to be a sincere, authentic person arises." He sighed, as if swooning.

She began to feel something in her chest, a pressure building there like before a cry, but different. A feeling of sweet sorrow filled her; a longing for something arose, like a long-forgotten memory. Her mind began to settle. She felt a breeze on her cheek as she watched a dragonfly whiz past, its wings glittering, rainbow-like, in the sunlight.

A bus rolled into the bus stop. Air brakes hissed loudly. The back doors swung open; a man and woman stepped down to the sidewalk. They were arguing. The girl and the old man looked on.

They watched the man and woman walk down the hill, still arguing and gesturing. Then the young girl said, "Old man, you’re full of it!" She got up and ran down the hill.

The old man watched her disappear around a corner. He helped himself up with his cane and continued his walk. His heart aching with longing, a feeling of sweet sorrow, carrying him towards the Divine. He smiled to himself and said aloud, to no one in particular, "Yes, I am full of it!"