Badri
17-Sep-2008, 08:41 PM
WARRIOR OF THR LIGHT
“Just off the beach to the west of the village lies an island and on it is a vast temple with many bells,” said the woman.
The young boy, Santiago, noticed that she was dressed strangely and had a veil covering her head. He had never seen her before.
“Have you ever visited that temple?” the woman asked. “Go there and tell me what you think of it?”
Seduced by the woman’s beauty, Santiago as any child would have done decided to check on it, he went to the place she had indicated. He sat down on the beach and stared out at the horizon, he kept staring for hours and hours, but he seen only what he always used to see, blue sky and the ocean, the same familiar scenes he’s well acquainted with.
Disappointed, he walked to a nearby fishing village and asked if anyone there knew about an island and a temple.
“Oh, that was many years ago, when my great grand parents were alive,” said an old fisherman. “There was an earthquake, and the island was swallowed up by the sea, but although we can no longer see the island, we can still hear the temple bells. Santiago spent the whole afternoon there once more, but all he heard was the noise of the waves and the cries of the seagulls.
When night fell, his parents worried, came out looking for him. The following morning, he went back to the beach, he could not believe that such a beautiful woman would have lied to him. If she ever returned, he could tell her that although he had not seen the island, he had heard the temple bells set ringing by the motion of the waves.
Many months passed: the woman did not return and Santiago forgot all about her: now he was convinced that he needed to discover the riches and treasures of the submerged temple. If he could hear the bells, he would be able to locate it and salvage the treasures hidden below.
He lost interest in school and even in his friends. He became the butt of all the other children’s jokes. They used to say: “He is not like us; he prefers to sit looking at the sea because he is afraid of being beaten in our games.”
And they all laughed to see him sitting on the shore.
Although he still could not hear the old temple bells ringing, Santiago learned about other things. He began to realize that he grown so used to the sound of the waves that he was no longer distracted by them. Soon after that, he became used to the cries of the seagulls, the buzzing of the bees and the wind blowing amongst the palm trees.
Six months after his first conversation with the woman, Santiago could sit there oblivious to all other noises, but he still could not hear the bells from the drowned temple.
Fishermen came and talked to him, insisting that they had heard the bells. But the boy never did.
Sometime later, however, the fishermen changed their tune:”You spend far too much time thinking about the bells beneath the sea. Forget about them and go back to playing with your friends. Perhaps its only fishermen who can hear them.”
After almost a year, the he thought: “Perhaps they’re right. I would do better to grow up and become a fisherman and come down to this beach every morning, because I’ve come to love it here.” And he thought too: “Perhaps its just another legend and the bells were all shattered during the earthquake and have never rung out since.”
That afternoon, he decided to go back home. He walked down to the ocean to say goodbye. He looked once more at the natural world around him and because he was no longer concerned about the bells, he could again smile at the beauty of the seagulls’ cries, the roar of sea, and the wind blowing in the palm trees. Far off, he heard the sound of his friends playing and he felt glad to think that he would soon resume his childhood games.
Santiago was happy and -as only a child can- he felt grateful for being alive. He was sure that he had not wasted his time, for he had learned to contemplate Nature and to respect it.
Then, because he was listening to the sea, the seagulls, the wind in the palm trees, and the voices of his friends playing, he also heard the first bell.
And another... And another, until to his great joy. All the bells in the drowned temple were ringing.
Years later, when he was a grown man, he returned to the village and to the beach of his childhood. He no longer dreamed of finding treasure at the bottom of the sea, perhaps that had all been a product of his imagination, and he had never really heard the submerged bells ring out on one lost childhood afternoon. Even so, he decided to walk for a while along the beach, to listen to the noise of the wind and to the cries of the seagulls.
Imagine his surprise when, there on the beach, he saw the woman who had first spoken to him about the island and its temple.
“What are you doing here?” Santiago asked.
“I was waiting for you.” She replied.
He noticed that, despite the passing years, the woman looked exactly the same; the veil hiding her hair had not faded with time.
She handed him a blue notebook full of blank pages. “Write: A Warrior of the Light values a child’s eyes because they are able to look at the world without bitterness. When he wants to find out if the person beside him is worthy of his trust, he tries to see him as a child would.”
“What is a Warrior of the Light?”
“You already know that,” she replied with a smile. “He is someone capable of understanding the miracle of life, of fighting to the last for something he believes in-and of hearing the bells that the waves set ringing on the seabed.”
He had never thought of himself as a Warrior of the Light.
The woman seemed to read his thoughts. “Everyone is capable of these things. And, though no one thinks of himself as a Warrior of the Light, we all are.”
He looked at the blank pages in the notebook. The woman smiled again.
“Write about the Warrior.” She said.
The Warrior of the Light knows that he has much to be grateful for.
A Warrior of the light knows his own faults, but he also knows his qualities.
The moment the he begins to walk along it, the Warrior of the light recognizes the path.
The Warrior of the Light knows that no one is stupid and that life teaches everyone-however long that may take.
The warrior of the light meditates.
He sits in a quite place in his tent and surrenders himself to the divine light. When he does this, he tries not to think about anything, he shuts himself off from the search for pleasure, from challenges and revelations, and allows his gifts and powers to reveal themselves.
The Warrior of the light never forgets the old saying: The good little goat doesn’t bleat. Injustices happen. Everyone finds themselves in situations they do not deserve, usually when they are to defend themselves.
Defeat often knocks at the Warrior’s door. At such times he remains silent. He doesn’t not waste energy on words, because they can do nothing. He knows it best to use his strength to resist and have patience, knowing that someone is watching. Someone who saw the unnecessary suffering and who will not accept it. That someone gives him what he most needs, time, sooner or later, everything will once more work in his favor.
The conversation went on and on, as the young man kept writing and noting down what the woman was telling him. It was dark by the time she finished speaking, the two of them sat watching the moon rising.
“Many of the things you told me contradict each other.” he said.
She got up.
“Goodbye,” she said. “You knew that the bells at the bottom of the sea were not just a legend, but you could only hear them when you realized that the wind, the seagulls, and the sound of the palm fronds were all part of the pealing of the bells.
“In just the same way, the warrior of the Light knows that everything around him- his victories, his defeats, his enthusiasm, and his dependency-form part of his Good Fight, And he will know which strategy to use when he need sit. A Warrior doesn’t try to be coherent; he has learned to live with his contradictions.
“Who are you,” he asked.
But the woman was already moving off, walking over the waves towards the rising moon.
“Just off the beach to the west of the village lies an island and on it is a vast temple with many bells,” said the woman.
The young boy, Santiago, noticed that she was dressed strangely and had a veil covering her head. He had never seen her before.
“Have you ever visited that temple?” the woman asked. “Go there and tell me what you think of it?”
Seduced by the woman’s beauty, Santiago as any child would have done decided to check on it, he went to the place she had indicated. He sat down on the beach and stared out at the horizon, he kept staring for hours and hours, but he seen only what he always used to see, blue sky and the ocean, the same familiar scenes he’s well acquainted with.
Disappointed, he walked to a nearby fishing village and asked if anyone there knew about an island and a temple.
“Oh, that was many years ago, when my great grand parents were alive,” said an old fisherman. “There was an earthquake, and the island was swallowed up by the sea, but although we can no longer see the island, we can still hear the temple bells. Santiago spent the whole afternoon there once more, but all he heard was the noise of the waves and the cries of the seagulls.
When night fell, his parents worried, came out looking for him. The following morning, he went back to the beach, he could not believe that such a beautiful woman would have lied to him. If she ever returned, he could tell her that although he had not seen the island, he had heard the temple bells set ringing by the motion of the waves.
Many months passed: the woman did not return and Santiago forgot all about her: now he was convinced that he needed to discover the riches and treasures of the submerged temple. If he could hear the bells, he would be able to locate it and salvage the treasures hidden below.
He lost interest in school and even in his friends. He became the butt of all the other children’s jokes. They used to say: “He is not like us; he prefers to sit looking at the sea because he is afraid of being beaten in our games.”
And they all laughed to see him sitting on the shore.
Although he still could not hear the old temple bells ringing, Santiago learned about other things. He began to realize that he grown so used to the sound of the waves that he was no longer distracted by them. Soon after that, he became used to the cries of the seagulls, the buzzing of the bees and the wind blowing amongst the palm trees.
Six months after his first conversation with the woman, Santiago could sit there oblivious to all other noises, but he still could not hear the bells from the drowned temple.
Fishermen came and talked to him, insisting that they had heard the bells. But the boy never did.
Sometime later, however, the fishermen changed their tune:”You spend far too much time thinking about the bells beneath the sea. Forget about them and go back to playing with your friends. Perhaps its only fishermen who can hear them.”
After almost a year, the he thought: “Perhaps they’re right. I would do better to grow up and become a fisherman and come down to this beach every morning, because I’ve come to love it here.” And he thought too: “Perhaps its just another legend and the bells were all shattered during the earthquake and have never rung out since.”
That afternoon, he decided to go back home. He walked down to the ocean to say goodbye. He looked once more at the natural world around him and because he was no longer concerned about the bells, he could again smile at the beauty of the seagulls’ cries, the roar of sea, and the wind blowing in the palm trees. Far off, he heard the sound of his friends playing and he felt glad to think that he would soon resume his childhood games.
Santiago was happy and -as only a child can- he felt grateful for being alive. He was sure that he had not wasted his time, for he had learned to contemplate Nature and to respect it.
Then, because he was listening to the sea, the seagulls, the wind in the palm trees, and the voices of his friends playing, he also heard the first bell.
And another... And another, until to his great joy. All the bells in the drowned temple were ringing.
Years later, when he was a grown man, he returned to the village and to the beach of his childhood. He no longer dreamed of finding treasure at the bottom of the sea, perhaps that had all been a product of his imagination, and he had never really heard the submerged bells ring out on one lost childhood afternoon. Even so, he decided to walk for a while along the beach, to listen to the noise of the wind and to the cries of the seagulls.
Imagine his surprise when, there on the beach, he saw the woman who had first spoken to him about the island and its temple.
“What are you doing here?” Santiago asked.
“I was waiting for you.” She replied.
He noticed that, despite the passing years, the woman looked exactly the same; the veil hiding her hair had not faded with time.
She handed him a blue notebook full of blank pages. “Write: A Warrior of the Light values a child’s eyes because they are able to look at the world without bitterness. When he wants to find out if the person beside him is worthy of his trust, he tries to see him as a child would.”
“What is a Warrior of the Light?”
“You already know that,” she replied with a smile. “He is someone capable of understanding the miracle of life, of fighting to the last for something he believes in-and of hearing the bells that the waves set ringing on the seabed.”
He had never thought of himself as a Warrior of the Light.
The woman seemed to read his thoughts. “Everyone is capable of these things. And, though no one thinks of himself as a Warrior of the Light, we all are.”
He looked at the blank pages in the notebook. The woman smiled again.
“Write about the Warrior.” She said.
The Warrior of the Light knows that he has much to be grateful for.
A Warrior of the light knows his own faults, but he also knows his qualities.
The moment the he begins to walk along it, the Warrior of the light recognizes the path.
The Warrior of the Light knows that no one is stupid and that life teaches everyone-however long that may take.
The warrior of the light meditates.
He sits in a quite place in his tent and surrenders himself to the divine light. When he does this, he tries not to think about anything, he shuts himself off from the search for pleasure, from challenges and revelations, and allows his gifts and powers to reveal themselves.
The Warrior of the light never forgets the old saying: The good little goat doesn’t bleat. Injustices happen. Everyone finds themselves in situations they do not deserve, usually when they are to defend themselves.
Defeat often knocks at the Warrior’s door. At such times he remains silent. He doesn’t not waste energy on words, because they can do nothing. He knows it best to use his strength to resist and have patience, knowing that someone is watching. Someone who saw the unnecessary suffering and who will not accept it. That someone gives him what he most needs, time, sooner or later, everything will once more work in his favor.
The conversation went on and on, as the young man kept writing and noting down what the woman was telling him. It was dark by the time she finished speaking, the two of them sat watching the moon rising.
“Many of the things you told me contradict each other.” he said.
She got up.
“Goodbye,” she said. “You knew that the bells at the bottom of the sea were not just a legend, but you could only hear them when you realized that the wind, the seagulls, and the sound of the palm fronds were all part of the pealing of the bells.
“In just the same way, the warrior of the Light knows that everything around him- his victories, his defeats, his enthusiasm, and his dependency-form part of his Good Fight, And he will know which strategy to use when he need sit. A Warrior doesn’t try to be coherent; he has learned to live with his contradictions.
“Who are you,” he asked.
But the woman was already moving off, walking over the waves towards the rising moon.