What Is Life (a story)

Again he walked deep into the forest, carrying nothing, mind on fire, heart beating perfectly, posture upright and relaxed, with a warm inner glow pervading his limbs. He loved to wander, wonder, meander, stroll, walk consciously, breathe deeply and allow himself to visit the obvious vastness. He didn’t like to talk on these mini-pilgrimages, they were his daily visits to his own Mecca, and were pathways to the present paradise which preoccupation with trifles sabotages. He was a mystic monk in modern clothing-genes with a sweatshirt on for warmth from the very early morning chill. And he constantly felt a strange joy, the bliss of freedom, as he walked alone with the company only of the morning light and the wondrous trees, standing in a liquefied way at the birth of a new day. He recalled Plato defining philosophy as the love of wisdom and the endless wonder regarding the miracle and mystery which we so complacently call “another day.” He was proud to be a writer, a lover, and a teacher. He wrote every day, unfolding his own inner song. He loved every day, as best he could. And he could. He taught every day, and he taught only one thing: the perfection. What is the perfection? What is life? What is mind? What is the greatest of all blessings? What is divine dancing? What is ecstatic delight?

The perfection is all this and more, he thought, for it is infinite, unlimited, unbound ever-new bliss. It is the moment, this moment, each moment. He smiled inwardly as he realized that the perfection can only known intuitively; it cannot be known intellectually. He no longer tried to convince anyone of all of this: he would simply teach these ageless movements in silence and everyone of his students would feel something unique happening. And they would watch him very closely and something extraordinary would occur. They would taste, if he was there, a honeyed perfect dew drop of what he liked to call paradise consciousness, or the True Home of us all. And many came to his classes for years, for no where else could they feel such perfection.

The perfection was simply that all dwelled in the present moment, in the natural rhythm of ambition-less movement. And the present is paradise, the garden of Allah, the meadow of lovers, where resurrection is constant and smiling eyes are seen wherever one might look. And so the years went by, and still he loved walks, and still he loved his great lady, and still he taught to ever-increasing numbers of spiritually-starved humans. His movements became more and more refined, more and more light-filled, watching him practice was a lesson in instantaneous stillness and dynamic transparency. He was now 100 years old and looked 70, whatever that means. His wife was 96 1/2 and their outrageous old cat was 63 years old! Believe it, believe it all, for with radiant love, mystical movement and divine blessings all is possible and miracles are the order of the day! Perhaps I have exaggerated, but there is a method to it. Life itself is the miraculous made ordinary by the simple and apparent repetition of events. Know that this man had made his chi, his vital force, an alchemical potion which kept him vital and extremely wise. It had awakened dormant faculties in his body and mind which had transmuted his body into the famous diamond body of Chinese mystical lore. It is also called the body of light in many esoteric schools. It is the constant influx of the holy spirit into the temple of the human body. It is also called transubstantiation, a fabulous word with an ever more fabulous meaning. Matter, the body, is softened, stretched, enspirited with the subtle energy. The concrete becomes loosed and is filled with cosmic energy. It absorbs the light, warmth and wisdom of the sun. Yes, the Sun is very wise and constantly gives light, as we all know. And the inner Sun awakes and glows.

And so our hero had used his mind and body as a laboratory, exploring this magical elixir called chi. His method was simple and constant repetition, with strong visualization to empower himself and transcend the limited beliefs so inherent in conventional thinking and the conditioning process. He knew that nothing great can ever be achieved without enthusiasm. His practices were works of art, high art, done with sensitivity and devotion.

He, his wife and his cat were legends in their home town and their presence was requested everywhere. But they preferred the quiet life, the beauty of nature, and their love above all else. They would sit on their porch, looking out into a beautiful Oak Grove and watch the magic of nature unfold before their eyes. And their cat would sit on her lap as they held hands and rocked on this chair. They would sit quietly for hours at a time and then speak to one another very softly, intimately with a tenderness known only to those who have spent many years softening the hard edges of their minds. They had always been lovers, ever since they had met many, many years ago at a dance. They, and their cat, were as inseparable as the sky and the stars. They had written many books, traveled to many exotic places, and enjoyed the fabulous gift of life. And they had shared and really known only one thing: the perfection. Since it was always present, it wasn’t difficult to find. That’s where they lived and that’s what they taught. Only NOW satisfied, for only NOW is whole, perfect, complete, and entire. They walked in immortality NOW. And so did their cat!