Enlightenment

In a cave in the far east there lived an old man, well over a hundred, but no one knew by quite how much.  He was a legend, known far and wide for his wisdom, deeds of kindness, and some would say miracles.  An American news agency had heard of this man and sent a female journalist from Boston  to interview him. She was to gain insight into what was so special about  him that he’d gained thousands of followers and was visited by eastern dignitaries.  Indeed a shrine had been built in his honor an immense service, an outpouring of wealth and love from his followers.   Still he preferred to live in the cave high on this mountain in Nepal with just a few of his disciples.  It was here that the female journalist found him after a rather arduous trek with her LA photographer/videographer.  She was blond and wore a khaki skirt and jacket and sensible shoes. . Her white blouse was streaked with sweat. So she took a few minutes to tidy her appearance before she was to be introduced to the venerable sage who some would call a saint. .  Long ago he’d been called a zen master.  Now he was just referred to as ‘the one’.

The photographer/videographer was tired.  He’d humped his camera gear up the mountain. The day was passing and the light wasn’t very good. He hoped his partner would get on with it.  He was always in a bit of hurry.  To get the story. To get the film. To get the copy out to the publisher. Seeing the zen master, he thought he must be the oldest man he’d ever known. The man was so thin and his skin was like parchment.  He was standing near talking to his disciples in  loose fitting pyjamas.  The photographer had taken the tripod out of his pack and attached it to his camera.  The disciples were motioning to them to come forward.

When he came closer something about the old man’s  face caught the photographer’s well trained eye. . A kind of inner illumination. He saw it but did’t know if his camera would capture it.  He hoped so.  The old man bowed to them.  His hands were together before his chest.

« Namaste », he said. His voice a rich baritone.

His translater said to the journalist.  « My holy master is greeting you.  Namaste means ‘bow me you’ .  Some say it also means ‘the divine within me salutes the divine within you.’  The master was standing very still. He was sinewy rather than frail.  He waited patiently as his translater spoke to the beautiful young woman who having heard the translation put her hands together and bowed back to him. « Namaste’ she said.  He smiled..Her voice was like bird song. 

There were couches set in a semi circle and the master took a seat on one, She sat across from him. the translater to her left and the camera man with his tripod up, now positioned to the right with his back to the light of the cave opening.

The journalist brushing an errant strand of golden hair from her forehead looked  down at the notebook she’d place on her lap. It held all the questions that she’d discussed with her producers back in Boston.  She looked up and asked , « Great master, can you tell me what is enlightenment? »

The master looked to his right at his translator who leaned forward and conveyed her question in their dying language.  He nodded.

Smiling ,he turned back to the journalist and translated the words of his master.

The journalist looked to the translator.  The videographer’s camera was filming.  It’s a film that remains today a century later long after the old man had died along with the young who were there that day.

He says, « I shit when I am shitting: the translater conveyed

There was some more questions and answers after that but the interview didn’t last much longer. The sage grew tired easily at his age. His disciples were very protective of him. Perhaps  he felt too he had said what needed to be said,    Soon the young couple were leaving being shown back down the mountain by the monks.  The sun was setting in the western sky. The master would be give no more interviews.  This was certainly the last time he spoke to a westerner especially a weestern woman. It was the only time he’d been filmed too.

« I shit when I am shitting ».  

The journalist repeated this several times on their journey back to the city..

She remembered reading the words of Brother Lawrence a western monk who’d encouraged the ‘ practice of the presence of God:. She spoke with her photographer, He shared he’d  remembered  hearing  a  Canadian soldier in a lull in the war he was shooting, say, « you’ve got to get your head in the same room  your ass is. » 

« I shit when I’m shitting » the old man had said. 

The network published the story.  It aired as a piece at the end of one days news.  The journalist had considered every synonym she could think of but in the end said exactly what the translater had told her. It did get a laugh.  People laughed when she told them They laughed when the show was aired.  Though the acoustics and light in the cave were not that good  they all got to see the old man and hear the translators words. The episode was called ‘Enlightennent’. The producrs picked the title.   Sitar, violin and flute  played in the back ground.  The audience laughed a bit awkwardly at first but then a bit more loudly as they because aware others were laughing too.  

The film was shown again and again occasionally. The tape was eventually changed to digital and stored in the library archives.  Serious students continued to come acrosss it in their studies. Professors referenced it in future courses.  Despite the lighting the camera man had caught the subtle illumination that reminded some of the halos seen in medieval paintings in the Louvre.  It was less of a circle above the head but more of a sheen radiating from within.. One could even imagine his eyes twinkling as he said « I shit when I’m shitting’ , that refrain that would be recorded and shared down the ages for anyone seeking enlightenment to hear.