#the hermit and the seed2
The morning mist rose slowly. The sun rose behind the blue binoculars warming the frost-laden thorns that covered the fir branches.
First, the silence of the shy awakening of nature in winter. Then the awakening of men, with familiar and muffled noises dampened by the fresh snow. Some screeches that gently sink, carrying the farmer to his animals. Nobody thought abroad anymore. The life of the village was always the same, punctuated by daily occupations.
The hermit's hut was still asleep. The sun could not pierce a ray inside. No opening had been made for that. The heat was precious. This man was poor ...
The old man was the first to wake up. No alarm clock, but a kind of knowledge of his own natural rhythms. The hearth was almost cold. Only a few embers still pink were trying to resist. He searched for the coffee pot that contained a residue of blackish liquid that he continued to call coffee. He put the whole thing in the ashes still warm and let it heat up. His eyes fell on Jean, who was still sleeping. He was curled up on himself, keeping the most heat against him. He would not wake him up. He had time ...
While the coffee was warming, he came out of the house: natural needs ... The cold early morning quelled all his muscles yet so dry. He looked around him. Nothing had changed. Everything was like yesterday, except it was a new day. He came back inside, rubbing his hands. The bitter smell of warm ash and mixed coffee was a sign that the day could really begin. At this smell, Jean began to open an eye. Shy, still in the memory of a deep and calm night where nothing had happened. The shaggy mop, he tried to belittle a rebellious lock by running a hand through his hair. He rubbed his eyes and looked around. In the shadows of the cabin, he could not quite distinguish things. A current of icy air came to rest on his face. In the frame of the door, the frail silhouette of the old man was emerging at the same time a halo of steam surrounded him. An unreal appearance enhanced by the sunlight that made the snow shine outside. Golden stars glittered, reflections of dust from other stars. For a moment he felt that it was beginning again. The dream was not over and he was still going to be in a strange situation. A move back ... The old man sent him a hello full of warmth. He remembered. He did not dream. His eyes were slowly getting used to the dim light. He asked the hermit to light a candle to see something. He replied that outside the day was illuminating the world. No need for light inside to drink coffee.
"Breakfast?" The hermit approached the warm hearth. He ran his nose over the coffeepot. It smelled good coffee.
"Take a cup on the shelf and come and sit by the fireplace ... Today we have a lot to do ..."
Slilently, they tasted the strange bitter beverage. No sugar, too expensive ...
One question was working on Jean's mind. He knew he was horrified by the darkness. It came from his childhood. His nights were already filled with nightmares. He could only sleep with subdued but reassuring light. He asked the old man why his hut did not have a window. When he was building a shelter, he was trying to leave an opening, even at night, the light of the stars could be a landmark in the darkness.
He replied that the light he saw from dawn to dusk. That when we sleep, the windows are useless to let in the cold, humidity, and insects when it is the season.
The roguish spirit of Jean had also awakened:
"But when it rains, you must stay in your cabin, without light, or light a candle. What else can you do differently?
The old man had a smile of which he had the secret. The pupil Jean had just revealed himself. He had to be a master worthy of the questions asked. He let to wait the answer ...
"Your eyes can see the answer to this question, but your heart wants to ignore the answer. Today, thanks to this question you will begin your learning of the discovery of the things of the spirit. The revelation of the entity John, that known to the One who knows and who must reveal himself to the men of the world, as it should be and not what men wanted it to be. That, if that's your real desire. Our duty to you, those who have preceded you, is to give you the strength to fight against the ignorance of men, and to keep you still in reserve for the day to come. This moment has not arrived yet. Those who betrayed you, those whom you loved and who loved you are not ready to receive this new being that you will become. They too must go further on the path that carries them. But before that happens, you will have to erase them from your memory, all without exception. If you did it differently, if you did not sacrifice it, would you fall prey to the remorse that would continually attack you until your capitulation! This is not the will of the one who knows. Now, I'll give you my answer. The rain falling on the world from the highest is not a bad thing to fear, or it hampers our actions. You can appreciate it when it runs on your body, while the wetness of summer suffocated you. It refreshes your body and ideas, when you realize that this water, so fine, is full of all the smells of the world. She took charge of the memory of the wind that brought her to you. It follows the curves of your body and is still responsible for a part of yourself to get lost in the bowels of the earth. There she concentrates and waits for a seed to need its vitality to hatch and return to the light. All the memory of the world is in this water. Yours also. You can also open your mouth and feel its special taste swallowing the worlds crossed by it, and melt them in you. So do you have the memory of these landscapes that she visited. But that is too wonderful to understand. Water is water. Nothing but a raw material with no other function than to maintain life ... Forget the wonderful and you die ... The secret of water is the function-memory that it has to dissolve what she meets, digest information and carry it. Life is born, there is the memory of life ... This rain may not be understood as such a wonder, but as natural water. So, you say to yourself that it has not come time to wash you. Then you enter your home, the one that has no opening on the world. You say: I am in darkness, and you wait until the spill of the tank of heaven ceases ... Nothing prevents you from seeing the world. The window is not useful. The world is in you as it is outside. It is in you that the open window must be ... In you all the smells, all the sounds, all the beings, all the known and unknown landscapes. Your open mind contemplates you, then, even what is elsewhere. No limit, only open your mind. It's like a thousand and one windows of a house you do not know yet ... It does not remind you of anything?"
So saying, he leaned toward the few embers that were still alive. He blew on it.
ook; do they know what they were? Concentration of the spirit of the sun, they have in them its strength and we restore it. By dint of domestication men have enslaved this free and raw energy that is in a distant sky. The sun is there in the hollow of my hand ... It goes out slowly having given what it had. The light it gave to the trees, the trees gave back to the men. Light is rendered in the death of things ...
He laid the embers on the hearth. She had not stopped living. Its heat would be used to bring another fire to life. Thus time would continue its course.
ean finished drinking his coffee. He was curious to find out what was outside. Despite the cold he ventured to the door and looked around the cabin. The purity of the landscape was tainted here and there with small imperfections which gave the expression of life. The sun's rays on the snow-covered peaks made him think of cotton candy. The old man approached him ...
"What do you see ? "
"I see the snow, the mountains, the sky, the clouds dancing on the wind ..."
He turned to the hermit. He realized that his eyes were closed. He did not say anything. John left him in his contemplation. He turned back to the landscape and tried to understand the meaning of the old man's question. He had the strange feeling that the image of the world he had had before was no longer the same. He turned his head as if to ask the hermit what was happening. His face was transfigured. Jean could almost recognize the images of the landscape that stood out on the old man's skin. Prodigy of the master?
"Yes, that too I can see it. This winter show you will be able to contemplate it every day of this season. But did you see the bird that perched on the tree, seeking protection? No ? Sure, that you have not been able to see what's going on under the thick snow, and behind the mountains. Read on my face all the curves of the earth, all the branches of the trees, all the rocks, and all the beings that are in them. See what your mind feels but can not yet see. It is not a miracle or an illusion, but an ancient knowledge that I will teach you. You will also be able to reach this state and so will you be able to commune with nature. Go back now and close your eyes. Concentrate on what you want to see from these hidden things and when the time comes, open your eyes. You will see what few have seen!"
Jean performed the indications. He did so without hope of reaching this state. He thought that only a long experiment of this technique could give results. But, contrary to what he thought, he was able to achieve this transfiguration in an instant. Even more, his face did not seem large enough to contain everything his soul could contemplate. His eyes had disappeared giving way to the immense sight his mind was embracing. The hermit watched, moved. Pulling himself together, he felt a great joy invading him. He was certain that John could do the work. John was to be blessed by the One who knows that this miracle is taking place. He had never seen one of his students perform such a thing in his whole life.
"See the strength that you thought was far from you. She works without you having to learn. When your mind opens in the future and you no longer think about the past, it is there, it protects you, takes you to far-off places. But, let's stop this experiment. For the moment we have to think of something else. You have to build your own home, because mine, as you have seen, is far too small for two. In addition, an old grigou like me can not be good company for a young man. Master, I can be, companion of fortune I can not ..."
The time was wrong to build a house, no matter how hard it was. Building materials would not be found around a path. It did not bother John who was used to such adversity. He took this as another test. He asked the hermit where he might have the best chance of finding what he needed. "Not in men" he replied. The woods are full of useful materials. He lent him an ax and a saw and let him conquer the forest.
Jean left for days to find what he needed. The old man was surprised to see what he brought back. Various stones, wood, all that would be useful. It was still necessary to put everything in place. Cut the wood, cut the planks, mount the stones and seal them together. Winter is not easy. The freezing water, the earth lasts like a black diamond. The body was severely tested. The spirit too ... Magic of the hands, memory of the hands that work without plan. The habit of building a shelter, but the hope that it would be for a longer time than usual. This house was to be as comfortable as it would be long enough to stay there. These days that passed were the proof that manual labor remains the only wealth of men. Where it came, from the wise elites had decided otherwise. Thinkers had control of the world. The slaves put their ideas into practice. Rebellious spirits who sought more and more to abolish the work of the hands. Cybernetic age. Replace men with robots. Good idea if men could replace the heavy tasks of manual labor by others satisfying their intellectual progress. Oisiveté advocated by robotics. Conflicts between robots and men. Some servile at wish and without spirit, others equally servile but with a spirit. Conflict between idle hands and the spirit that abandons the game. No more future to build if the hands do not build anymore.
For Jean, seeing his hands reborn was one of the most beautiful things in the world. Make these nimble fingers work like never before. Even bruised by the cold and abrasions, his brave tools carried with them the hope of rebuilding himself through the house.
The old man watched him do it. He was waiting for the moment to answer Jean's questions. He admired his ability to work. More than that, he felt the spirit of his young companion grow. He remembered what had happened with his master. He, too, had made discoveries much more superior to the teaching received. Some secrets are revealed over time without external intervention being the cause. The only thing to keep in mind was the child's soul. Creator of all things. Master of destiny of the things of the spirit.
Even though Jean had asked him questions, he still did not feel entitled to answer him. He could only share his joy, in silence ...
In spite of all this work, Jean's mind could not free himself from the questions that beset him. He secretly hoped that the old man would see it. He waited for him to lead him to the discussion, and finally to receive the expected answers. The old man knew that. He did not want to be the one who gives the answer to everything.
The words of the old hermit echoed in Jean's head. Without realizing it, his thoughts were organized more and more. Moreover, he could glimpse some keys to his dreams. Nothing was to be done randomly. Everything had to make sense. He would find the solution.
Yet one evening they were meditating together, Jean could not stand. He had an urgent need to understand. To have keys, and not to sink the heavy doors of knowledge. He had a porter at his disposal.
He let her know that he could not disconnect from his memories. The hermit reminded him of what he had said. All questions will have no answers. Moreover, it was not up to him to answer all. Jean could not admit it. Did not he tell him he knew everything about him? That he had even followed it in his dreams? He knew what his ordeal was ... The old man had to know how important it was to Jean.
He was still listening to his prayers, but they remained unanswered. However, Jean becoming more urgent every day, the old man decided to answer:
"Really, what do you want me to explain to you? Certainly, could I give you all the answers that would suit you, the ones that every man wants to hear, but would you be able to recognize the truth of the false? My task is terribly difficult. I can not even do what I want to do. Know that a long chain of men connects us. This chain is maintained until you arrive ... And you, you would like to know everything about everything and immediately! Of these questions that you ask yourself, there is not one that is more important than the others. All are in relationship with your being, and the goal to reach. Elude one of her, do not find a single solution, and the game ends. Each is a walk. The whole thing is a building that you have to build. For certain, I do not hold the solution. Neither me nor another. You only know ... Understand well, that I can only share with you the fruit of my long reflection on certain enigmas of the universe. You'll know what I think. But you can not know if this is the truth!"
The truth. The big word was dropped. That was not what Jean was looking for. Only answers ... He told the hermit that he accepted his reluctance. He understood the meaning. He also knew that he alone would not be able to disassemble the skein of questions that stopped him on the path of knowledge.
"You will find, because who sows reaps the fruits of his labors. Everything will be done in time. Every step of a man's life brings answers. We must not rush the order of things. Wisdom can not be acquired in haste. When you go faster than the music, you lose the lyrics ..."
He got up and went to a pile of objects more unusual than the others. Like a scrap merchant, one by one he dismissed the worthless objects. He found a little box. It was dirty, covered with dirt, as if nobody had taken it out of its cache for a long time. Holding her in his hands, he blew on it. The dust was hard to lift. He put his sleeve on one of his hands, and rubbed it again.
"See. It had been buried for so long that it darkened. It's a gift from I do not know who. It does not matter. On the other hand, what it can represent can put you on the path."
Jean saw only an unimportant box. Despite the efforts of the old man to shine, she was ugly, dirty and uninteresting ... The hermit had captured the message. Jean's disinterest in this thing was on his face. He locked it in his hands so that Jean could not see her anymore ...
"Do you know what it is?"
"A box... ! "
"What your eyes have seen is the truth. It's a box. Ugly and old, like me. But what your eyes could not see is the story of this box. You do not know where she came from, who she belonged to, and what she can serve ..."
"Seen like that, yes, but ..."
"There can not be any but, my young friend. You know where you do not know what this box is. This is the truth. What I could tell you, would be my truth, and it would not correspond with yours. For me, this box is a treasure. For you she has no value. Two parts of the truth. Yet there is only one that suits him ..."
"Yours ? "
"Hers ! This box is the only one to know its value. The one we attach to it is already the distorted expression of its true identity. Men transform the truth of things according to the passing of time and fashions. The value of the thing changes in their eyes, and yet this thing keeps its truth in it. She is ! Dust has changed it. But she is ! I remove the wear of time. She is ! I show it to you now. She is ! I hide it from you. She is ! All this shows you that, being its own truth, it can not dissolve in time. Only the one who forged it can destroy it. But she is still there in his soul! She is here for eternity. Invariable, indestructible!"
The old man opened his hands. The box was there. Jean did not know what to think about it.
"Take ...!"
Jean took the box. He searched for the answer to the riddle. What did he mean the old man?
"That, the expression of the truth? The only thing we can say is that it's a box. The role of a box is to lock something up to protect it ... He looked for a way to open it."
"A key, my young friend?"
Jean sighed and handed him the box.
"Are you kinding me! This box has no opening. Who could have put something in?"
"Me ! "
The old man took the box from his hands. Delicately he pressed the top, and it opened. A little music escaped immediately. Mechanical melody of the Hymn to the joy. Gag! ..Jean burst out laughing. The hermit followed him. He asked her to keep the little box, as a souvenir. John agreed. This ugly thing then took on an inestimable value in his eyes. Joy ... He scrutinized the details and finally he discovered that an inscription was engraved on the back of the lid:
"For Gabriel, the sown seed that will reveal the future seed."
"Who was Gabriel?" Jean asked.
"A young student loved by his master. A young student who had to learn the joy of being in this world. Also to learn the patience to convey this joy. The seed that will reveal the seed ... He was right!"
"He was your master, huh?"
"Yes ... A man of great knowledge. A mountain of knowledge that I could not climb. Impatience of youth ..."
Jean listened to Gabriel. He let himself go. He could discover her winding on the edge of a large mountain at the invisible summit. Should he also climb those summits of knowledge, and try to reach the goal? Was it the residence of the one who knows? Gabriel looked at him from the corner of his eye.
"Did you understand something?"
"I think I have felt a new strength in me. But, before going any further, I think I have to find where my origins are."
"Are you sure this is useful? I will not be of any use to you. This way is the longest and I fear that you will succumb to discouragement. Maybe this is your first test ..."
Gabriel felt relieved. As long as John seeks his origins, he would not question him about his own knowledge. He had known how to wait for Jean. He would still wait for him to come out of the black earth of his origins. The sun would bring forth the seed. He would then water it with the water of knowledge.
Jean was ready for the beginning of the tests. Whatever happened, he was on the way, at the base of the mountain. Do not look up ...