Way of the Peaceful Warrior (17 page)

Pretending to be immersed in practice, I glanced at her every now and then out of the corner of my eyes. Her tight silk pants and halter top had snared my concentration; my mind kept drifting off to more exotic forms of gymnastics. For the rest of workout I was acutely conscious of her attention.
 

She disappeared just before the end of training. I showered, dressed, and headed up the stairs. There she was, at the top of the staircase, leaning seductively against the bannister. I don't even remember walking up the final flight of stairs.
 

“Hi, Dan Millman. I'm Valerie. You look much better than when I cared for you in the hospital.”
 

“I am better, nurse Valerie,” I grinned.
 

“And I'm so glad you are.” She laughed and stretched invitingly.
 

“Dan, I wonder if you'd do me a big favor. Would you walk me home? It's getting dark out, and a strange man has been following me.”
 

I was about to point out that it was early April and the sun wouldn't be going down for another hour, but then thought, “What the helluva petty detail.”
 

We walked, we talked and I ended up having dinner at her apartment. She opened her bottle of “special wine for special occasions.” I merely had a sip; but it was the beginning of the end. I was sizzling; hotter than the steak on the grill. There was a moment when a little voice asked, “Are you a man or a jellyfish?” Another little voice answered, “I'm one horny jellyfish.” That night I washed out on every discipline I'd been given. I ate whatever she gave me. I started with a cup of clam chowder, then salad, and for dessert, I bad several helpings of Valerie. For the next three days I didn't sleep very well, preoccupied with how to present my true confession to Socrates. I was prepared for the worst.
 

That night I walked into the office and told him everything, without apology, and waited, holding my breath. Socrates didn't speak for a long time. Finally, he said, “I noticed you haven't learned to breathe yet.” Before I could reply, he held up his hand. “Dan, I can understand how you might choose an ice cream cone or a fling with a pretty woman over the Way I have shown you--but can you understand it?” He paused. “There is no praise, no blame. You now understand the compelling hungers in your belly and your loins. That is good. But consider this: I've asked you to do your best. Was that really your best?”
 

Socrates turned his eyes on “bright”; they shone through me, “Come back in a month, but only if you've strictly applied the disciplines. See the young woman if you wish; serve her with attention and real feeling, but no matter what urges you may feel, be guided by a superior discipline!”
 

“I'll do it, Socrates; I swear I will! I really understand now.  See you next month.”
 

I knew that if I forgot the disciplines again, it would be the end for me and Socrates. With a growing inner resolve, I said, “No seductive woman, doughnut, or piece of roasted cow flesh is going to benumb my will again. I'll master my impulses or die.”
 

Valerie called me the next day. I felt all the familiar stirrings at the sound of her voice, which had moaned in my ear not long before. “Danny, I'd love to see you tonight. Are you available? Oh, good. I get off work at seven. Shall I meet you at the gym? O.K., see you then bye.”
 

I took her to Joseph's cafe that night for a supreme salad surprise. I noticed that Valerie was flirting with Joseph. He was his usual warm self, but showed no sign of returning her flirtations.
 

Later, we returned to her apartment. We sat and talked awhile. She offered wine; I asked for juice. She touched my hair and kissed me softly, murmuring in my ear. I kissed her back with feeling. Then my inner voice came through loud and clear. “Get yourself together. Remember what you must.”
 

I sat up, taking a deep breath. This wasn't going to be easy. She sat up too, straightening herself, patting her hair. “Valerie, you know I find you very attractive and exciting--but I'm involved in some, uh, personal disciplines that no longer allow for what was about to happen. I enjoy your company and want to see you again. But from now on, I suggest you think of me as an intimate friend, a loving p-p-priest.” I almost couldn't get it out.
 

She took a deep breath and smoothed her hair again. “Dan, it's really good to be with someone who isn't interested only in sex.”
 

“Well,” I said, encouraged. “I'm glad to hear you feel that way, because I know we can share many things besides a bed.”
 

She looked at her watch. “Oh, will you look at the time--and I have to work early tomorrow, too--so I'll say goodnight, Dan. Thank you for dinner. It was lovely.”
 

I called her the next day, but her phone was busy. I called her the following day and finally reached her. “I'm going to be very busy with nursing exams for the next few weeks.”
 

I saw her one week later when she appeared at the end of practice to meet Scott, one of the other guys on the team. They both walked right by me as I came up the stairs--so close that I could smell her perfume. She nodded politely and said hello.
 

Scott leered back at me and gave me a meaningful wink. I didn't know a wink could hurt so much.
 

With a desperate hunger that a raw salad repast couldn't possibly satisfy, I found myself in front of the Charbroiler. I smelled the sizzling hamburgers, basted with special sauce. I remembered all the good times I'd had, eating burgers with lettuce and tomatoes---and friends. In a daze, I went in without thinking, walked right up to the woman behind the counter and heard myself say, “One charbroiled with double cheese, please.”
 

She gave it to me and I sat down, held it to my mouth, and took a huge bite. Suddenly I realized what I was doing; choosing between Socrates and a cheeseburger. I spit it out, threw it angrily in the trash, and walked out. It was over; I was through being a slave to random impulses.
 

That night marked the beginning of a new glow of self-respect and a feeling of personal power. I knew it would get easier now.
 

Small changes began to add up in my life. Ever since I was a kid, I'd suffered all kinds of minor symptoms, like a runny nose at night when the air cooled, headaches, stomach upsets and mood swings, all of which I thought were normal and inevitable. Now they had all vanished.
 

I felt a constant sense of lightness and energy which radiated around me. Maybe that accounted for the number of women flirting with me, the little kids and dogs coming up to me and wanting to play. A few of my teammates started asking for advice about personal problems. No longer a small boat in a stormy sea, I started to feel like the Rock of Gibraltar.
 

I told Socrates about my experience. He nodded. “Your energy level is rising. People, animals, and even things are attracted to and awed by the presence of an energy field. That's how it works.” “House Rules?” I asked.
 

“House Rules.” Then he added, “On the other hand, it would be premature for self-congratulation. To keep your perspective, you'd better compare yourself to me. Then it will be clear that you've only graduated from kindergarten.”
 

School ended for the year almost without my noticing it. Exams went smoothly; the studies that had always seemed to be a major straggle for me had become a minor piece of business to get out of the way. The team left for a short vacation, then returned for summer workouts. I was beginning to walk without my cane and even tried to run very slowly a few times a week. I continued pushing myself to the limit of pain, discipline, and endurance, and, of course, I continued to do my best with right eating, right moving, and right breathing--but my best was still not very good.
 

Socrates started to increase his demands on me. “Now that your energy is building, you can begin training in earnest.”
 

I practiced breathing so slowly that it took one minute to complete each breath. When combined with intense concentration and control of specific muscle groups, this breathing exercise heated my body up like a sauna and allowed me to remain comfortable outside, no matter what the temperature.
 

I was excited to realize that I was developing the same power Soc had shown me the night we met. For the first time, I began to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could become a warrior of his stature no longer feeling left out, I now felt superior to my friends. When a friend complained of illness or other problems that I knew could be remedied by simply eating properly, I told him what I'd learned about responsibility and discipline.
 

I took my newfound confidence with me to the station one night, feeling sure that I was about to learn some ancient and arcane secrets of India, Tibet, or China. Instead, as soon as I stepped through the door, I was handed a mop and told to clean the bathroom. “Make those toilets shine.” For weeks afterward, I did so many menial tasks around the station that I had no time for my important exercises. I lifted tires for an hour, then took
out the trash. I swept the garage and straightened the tools. I had never imagined it could happen, but being around Socrates was getting boring.
 

At the same time, it was impossibly demanding. He'd give me five minutes to do a half-hour job, then criticize me mercilessly if it wasn't done thoroughly. He was unfair, unreasonable, and even insulting. As I was considering my disgust with this state of affairs, Socrates stepped into the garage to tell me that I'd left dirt on the bathroom floor.
 

“But someone used the bathroom after I finished,” I said. “No excuses,” he said, and added, “Throw out the garbage.” I was so mad that I gripped my broom handle like a sword. I felt an icy calm. “But I just threw the garbage out five minutes ago, Socrates. Do you remember old man, or are you getting senile?”
 

He grinned. “I'm talking about this garbage, baboon!” He tapped his head and winked at me. The broom clattered to the floor.
 

Another evening when I was sweeping the garage, Socrates called me into the office. I sat down, sullen, waiting for more orders. “Dan, you still haven't learned to breathe naturally. You've been indolent and need to concentrate more.”
 

That was the last straw. I screamed at him, “You've been the indolent one---I've been doing all your work for you!”
 

He paused, and I actually thought I saw pain in his eyes. Softly he said, “It isn't proper, Dan, to yell at your teacher.”
 

Again I remembered that the purpose of his insults had always been to show me my own mental and emotional turbulence, to turn my anger to action, and to help me persevere. Before I could apologize, he said, “Dan you'd better go away, and not come back until you have learned courtesy--and until you can breathe properly. Perhaps an absence will help your mood.”
 

Sadly, I shuffled out, my head down. As I walked home, I considered how patient he had been with my tantrums, complaints, and questions. All his demands had been to serve me. I vowed never to yell at him in anger again.
 

Alone, I tried harder than ever to correct my tense habits of breathing, but it only seemed to get worse. If I breathed deeply, I'd  forget to keep my tongue on the roof of my mouth; if I remembered  that, I'd slouch over. I was going crazy.
 

In frustration, I went back to the station to see Soc and ask for his advice, I found him tinkering in the garage. He took one look at me and said, “Go away.” Angry and hurt, I wordlessly limped off into the night. I heard his voice behind me, “After you learn how to breathe, do something about your sense of humor.” His laughter seemed to chase me halfway home.
 

When I reached the front steps of my apartment, I sat down and gazed at the church across the street without really seeing anything in front of my eyes. I said to myself, “I'm going to quit this impossible training.” Even so, I didn't believe a word I said. I continued eating my salads, avoiding every temptation; I struggled doggedly with my breathing.
 

It was almost mid-summer when I remembered Joseph's cafe. I'd been so busy with training in the day and with Soc at night that I hadn't made time to visit him. Now I thought sadly, my nights were completely free. I walked to his cafe just at closing time. The place was empty; I found Joseph in the kitchen, lovingly cleaning the fine porcelain dishes.
 

We were so different, Joseph and I. I was short, muscular, athletic, with short hair and a clean-shaven face; Joseph was tall, lean, even fragile looking, with a soft, curly
blond beard. I moved and talked quickly; he did everything with slow-motion care. In spite of our differences, or maybe because of them, I was drawn to him.
 

We talked into the night as I helped him stack chairs and sweep the floors. Even as I talked, I concentrated as well as I could on my breathing, which made me drop a dish and trip over the carpet.
 

“Joseph,” I asked, “Did Socrates really make you go on mile runs?”
 

“No, Dan,” he laughed. “My temperament isn't really suited for athletic feats. Didn't Soc tell you? I was his cook and personal attendant for years.”
 

“No, he never told me. But what do you mean that you were his attendant for years? You couldn't be older than twenty-eight or twenty-nine.”
 

Joseph beamed. “I'm a bit older than that--I'm fifty-two.” “Are you serious?”
 

He nodded. There certainly was something to all those disciplines.
 

“But if you didn't do very much physical conditioning, what did you do? What was your training?”