Way of the Peaceful Warrior (24 page)

“Yes we did, and what you learned is that the only thing you know absolutely is that you are here, wherever here may be. From now on, whenever your attention begins to drift off to other times and places, I want you to snap back. Remember, the time is now and the place is here.”
 

Just then, a college student burst into the office, dragging a friend with him. “I couldn't believe it,” he said to his friend, pointing to Socrates, then speaking to him. “I was walking by on the street, when I glanced over here and saw you throw that guy to the ceiling. Who are you, anyway?”
 

It looked as if Socrates was about to blow his cover. He looked at the student blankly, then laughed. “Oh,” Soc laughed again, “Oh, that's good! No, we were just exercising to pass the time. Dan here is a gymnast, aren't you, Dan?” I nodded. The student's friend said he remembered me; he'd watched a couple of gymnastics meets. Soc's story was becoming credible.
 

“We have a little trampoline behind the desk there.” Socrates went behind the desk, where, to my complete stupefaction, he “demonstrated” the nonexistent mini-trampoline so well I began to believe it was behind the desk. Jumping higher and higher until he could almost reach the ceiling, Soc then “bounced” lower, bobbing up and down, and finally stopped, bowing. I clapped.
 

Confused but satisfied, they left. I ran around to the other side of the desk. There was, of course, no trampoline. I laughed hysterically. “Socrates, you're incredible.”
 

“Yep,” he said, never one for false modesty.
 

By this time the sky was showing the faint light of dawn as Socrates and I got ready to leave. Zipping up my jacket, I felt as if it was a symbolic dawn for me.
 

Walking home, I thought of the changes that were showing up, not so much on the outside, but on the inside. I felt a new clarity about where my path lay and what my priorities were. As Soc had demanded of me long ago, I'd finally released my expectation that the world could fulfill me; therefore my disappointments had vanished, too. I would continue to do whatever was necessary to live in the everyday world, of course, but on my own conditions. I was starting to feel free.
 

My relationship with Socrates had changed, too. For one thing, I had fewer illusions to defend. If he called me a jackass, I could only laugh, because I knew that by his standards at least, he was right. And he rarely frightened me anymore.
 

As I passed Herrick Hospital on my walk home, a hand grasped my shoulder and I slipped instinctively under it, like a cat that didn't want to be patted. Turning, I saw a grinning Socrates. “Ah, you're not such a nervous fish anymore, are you?” “What are you doing here, Sot?” “Going for a walk.”
 

“Well, it's great to have you along.”
 

We walked in silence for a block or two, then he asked, “What time is it?”
 

“Now,” I sighed. “You don't have to keep...”
 

“Where are we?” he asked innocently.
 

“Here, but. .”
 

“Listen to me,” he interrupted. “Stay in the present. You can do nothing to change the past, and the future will never come exactly as you plan or hope for. There have never been past warriors, nor will there be future ones, either. The warrior is here, now. Your sorrow, your fear and anger, regret and guilt, your envy and plans and cravings live only in the past, or in the future.”
 

“Hold on, Socrates. I distinctly remember being angry in the present.”
 

“Not so,” he said. “What you mean is that you acted angry in a present moment. This is natural; action is always in the present, because it is an expression of the body, which can only exist in the present. But the mind, you see, is like a phantom, and, in fact, never exists in the present. Its only power over you is to draw your attention out of the present.”
 

I bent over to tie my shoe when I felt something touch my temples.
 

I finished tying my shoe and stood up, finding myself standing alone in a musty old attic without windows. In the dim light I discerned a couple of old trunks, shaped like vertical coffins, in corner of the room.
 

I felt very frightened all at once, especially when I realized that, in the stillness of the air, I could hear nothing at all, as if all sound was muffled by the stale dead air. Taking a tentative step, I noticed that I was standing within a pentacle, five-pointed star, painted in brownish red, on the floor. I looked closer. The brownish red color was from dried--or drying--blood.
 

Behind me I heard a growling laugh, so sickening, so horrifying that I had to swallow the rising metallic taste in my mouth. Reflexively, I turned to face a leprous, misshapen beast. It breathed in my face and the sickeningly sweet stench of the long-dead hit me full force,
 

Its grotesque cheeks pulled back to reveal black fangs. Then it spoke: “Commme to mmeeee.” I felt impelled to obey, but my instincts held. I stayed put.
 

It roared with fury. “My children, take him!” The trunks in the corner began moving slowly toward me and opened to reveal loathsome, decaying human corpses, which stepped out and advanced steadily. I gyrated wildly within the pentacle, seeking a place to run, when the attic door opened behind me and a young woman of about nineteen stumbled into the room and fell just outside the pentacle. The door remained ajar, and a shaft of light fell through.
 

She was beautiful, dressed in white. She moaned, as if hurt, and said in a faraway voice, “Help me, please help me.” Her eyes were tearfully pleading, yet held a promise of gratitude, reward, and unquenchable desire.
 

I looked at the advancing figures. I looked at the woman and at the door.
 

Then the Feeling came to me: “Stay where you are. The pentacle is the present moment. There, you're safe. The demon and his attendants are the past. The door is the future. Beware.”
 

Just then, the girl moaned again and rolled over on her back. Her dress slid up one leg, almost to her waist. She reached out to me pleading, tempting, “Help me ....”
 

Drank with desire, I lunged out of the pentacle.
 

The woman snarled at me, showing blood-red fangs. The demon and his entourage yelped in triumph and leaped toward me. I dove for the pentacle.
 

Huddled on the sidewalk, shaking, I looked up at Socrates.
 

“If you're sufficiently rested now, would you like to continue?” he said to me, as some early morning joggers ran by with amused looks on their faces.
 

“Do you have to scare me half to death every time you want to make a point?” I screeched.
 

“I should say so,” he replied, “when it is a very important point.”
 

After a few moments' silence I asked sheepishly, “You wouldn't have that girl's phone number, would you?” Socrates slapped his forehead and looked to the heavens.
 

“I will presume you did get the point of that little melodrama?”
 

“In summation,” I said, “stay in the present: it's safer. And don't step outside a pentacle for anyone with fangs.”
 

“Right you are,” he grinned. “Don't let anybody or anything, least of all your own thoughts, draw you out of the present. Surely you have heard the story of the two monks:
 

Two monks, one old, one very young, walked along a muddy path in a rain forest, on their way back to a monastery in Japan. They came upon a lovely woman who stood helplessly at the edge of a muddy, fast-flowing stream.
 

Seeing her predicament, the older monk swept her up in his strong arms and carded her across. She smiled at him, her arms around his neck, until he put her gently down on the other side. Thanking him, she bowed, and the monks continued on their way in silence.
 

As they neared the monastery gates, the young monk could no longer contain himself. “How could you carry a beautiful woman in your arms? Such behavior does not seem proper for a priest.”
 

The old monk looked at his companion, replying, “I left her back there. Are you still carrying her?”
 

“Looks like more work ahead,” I sighed, “just when I thought I was getting somewhere.”
 

“Your business is not to 'get somewhere'--it is to be here. Dan, you still hardly ever live fully in the present. You've only focused your mind here and now when you're doing a somersault or being badgered by me. It's time now to apply yourself like never before, if you're to have a chance of finding the gate. It is here, before you; open your eyes, now!”
 

“But how?”
 

“Just keep your attention in the present moment, Dan, and you'll be free of thought. When thoughts touch the present, they dissolve.” He prepared to leave.
 

“Wait, Socrates. Before you go, tell me--were you the older monk in the story--the one who carried the woman? That sounds like something you would have done.”
 

“Are you still carrying her?” He laughed as he glided away and  disappeared around the corner.
 

I jogged the last few blocks home, took a shower, and fell sound asleep.
 

When I awoke I went for a walk, continuing to meditate in the way Socrates had suggested, focusing my attention more and more in the present moment. I was awakening to the world and, like a child once again, was coming to my senses. The sky seemed brighter, even on the foggy days of May.
 

I said nothing to Socrates about Linda, perhaps for the same reason I never told her about my teacher. They were different parts of my life; and I sensed that Socrates was more interested in my inner training than my worldly relations.
 

I never heard from Joy, it seemed, unless she stepped from the shadows, or appeared in a dream. Linda wrote to me almost every day, and sometimes called, since she worked at Bell Telephone.
 

Classes rolled by smoothly as the weeks went on. My real school room, however, was Strawberry Canyon, where I ran like the wind through the hills, losing track of the distance, racing by jackrabbits. Sometimes I would stop to meditate beneath the trees or just smell the fresh breeze coming off the sparkling bay far below. I would sit for half an hour, watching the water's shimmer, or the clouds drifting overhead.
 

I had been released from all the “important goals” of my past. Only one remained: the gate. Sometimes even that was forgotten in the gym, when I played ecstatically, soaring high into the air on the trampoline, turning and twisting, floating lazily, then snapping into double somersaults and driving skyward again.
 

Linda and I continued to correspond, and our letters became poetry. But Joy's image would float before my eyes, smiling mischievously, knowingly, until I wasn't sure of what, or whom, I really wanted.
 

Then, before I knew it, my last year at the university was drawing to a close. Final exams were just a formality. Writing answers in the familiar blue books, I knew my life had changed as I delighted in the smooth blue ink emanating from the point of my pen. Even the lines on the paper seemed a work of art. The ideas just rolled out of my head, unobstructed by tension or concern. Then it was over, and I realized I'd finished my university education.
 

I brought fresh apple juice to the station to celebrate with Socrates. As we sat and sipped, my thoughts slipped out from under my attention and drifted into the future.
 

“Where are you?” Soc asked. “What time is it?”
 

“Here, Soc, now. But my present reality is that I need a career. Have any advice?”
 

“My advice is: do what you will.”
 

“That's not entirely helpful. Can you add anything?” “Okay, do what you must.” “But what?”
 

“It doesn't matter what you do, only how well you do it. By the way,” he added, “Joy will be visiting this weekend.”
 

“Wonderful! How about us going on a picnic this Saturday? Does 10 A.M. sound good?”
 

“Fine, we'll meet you here.”
 

I said goodnight, and stepped out into a cool June morning, under sparkling stars. It was about 1:30 A.M. as I turned from the station and walked to the corner. Something made me turn around, and I looked up on the roof. There he was, the vision I'd seen so many months ago, standing very still, a soft light glowing around his body as he looked up into the night. Even though he was sixty feet away and speaking softly, I heard him as if he were next to me. “Dan, come here.”
 

I walked quickly around back in time to see Socrates emerge from the shadows.
 

“Before you leave tonight there is one final thing you should see.” He pointed his two index fingers toward my eyes, and touched me just above the brows. Then he simply stepped away and leaped straight up, landing on the roof. I stood, fascinated, not believing what I'd seen. Soc jumped down, landing with very little sound. “The secret,” he grinned, “is very strong ankles.”
 

I rubbed my eyes. “Socrates, was it real? I mean, I saw it; but you touched my eyes first.”
 

“There are no well-defined edges of reality, Dan. The earth isn't solid. It is made of molecules and atoms, tiny universes filled with space. It is a place of light, and of magic, if you only open your eyes.”
 

We said goodnight.
 

Saturday finally arrived. I walked into the office and Soc rose from his chair. Then I felt a soft arm wrap around my waist and saw Joy's shadow move next to mine.