In India, we heard this story, told seriously, after which type of story there was nothing to say.
You sat around thinking, Oh jeez. There's a long way to go. Something should happen right now. So I can become that person of the story. I am ashamed of myself.
Eh. Get a life. You'll get used to it.
Used to being humiliated.
Because you really do suck scum, when it comes down to it.
See, the story, in this place, is told beautifully, way distant and near, as though something were going to happen; told as though in the midst of hushed combat troops, thinking their last pre-battle, un-battle thoughts.
Those who aren't snoring, anyway.
Even though it's told beautifully, precisely as some ancient poem, the very ancient poem it is, and spoken perfectly in its ancient Sanskrit and then English, I'm going to leave all that beautiful part out and cut straight to the "meat."
A tired and hungry traveler walks up to a couple of men near a village and says, "I'm tired and hungry. Can you give me some food?" The one dude runs off around the village, looking to find food from someone for the man, saying, "There's a stranger in town and he's tired and hungry and needs some food." (This would be the YOU guy.)
The other man takes a knife and cuts out a huge portion of his thigh and gives it to the traveler.
(This is the NOT YOU guy.)
End of story, except for those whose breakfast has started to wear off and have just awakened.
(Yesterday that was you.)
(Well; it's a very nice breakfast.
And lunch is even better!
If these guys would shut up.)
See, while the first man is running around the village looking for food to give, the second man has satisfied the need, and recognized the Master, because he recognizes the Master in Everyone.
He is indeed, a Holy Man, and he is indeed, a Disciple.
And the two will merge.
As you can see, is already happening.
"Wake up.
The Master knocks on your door."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
("He, wants to be with me?")
"He is calling you home."
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