Solstice

I had spent a dozen years trying to obliterate my ego, trying to understand what it is that made me do what I did. I bought books that attempted to help me analyze every aspect of myself, paid people to listen to me and tell me what to do, spent countless days and nights at coffee houses and other gatherings, talking with learned friends and colleagues about the intricacies and machinations of life.

After learning so much, I made sure to be careful what I said, how I thought, applying the instructions to the letter, so that my actions were microscopically precise, and my conduct would be flawless in terms of showing that I had, after all, finally conquered myself.

I chose the right clothes to wear so that they were not ostentatious, yet still reflective of my spiritual campaign. I spent many days and nights preparing myself so that every person in the world would, upon meeting me, know what I believed in.

At the end of the dozen years, I found myself standing next to a gigantic lake. Its water was clear and abundant with life. Dozens of varieties of fish swam near the surface, close enough to catch by simply reaching out my hands. Deer and other four-legged wildlife patrolled the shore, while bees staked out their own territory among a row of trees, their work so overplenty that honey dripped out of their nests and onto the ground, and sometimes even onto the water’s surface. There were apple orchards, lettuce fields, row after row of every fruit and vegetable imaginable.

I walked the perimeter of the lake and helped myself to the food. As I was finishing an orange, I saw an old man sitting behind a natural levee that supported one small part of the lake. The short levee was almost vertical, and had a small hole near the bottom, where some of the lake’s water dripped out.

The old man was dressed in rags that had no pockets. Nowhere around him did I see any signs that he had enjoyed the fish or fruits or vegetables that were within steps of where he sat. Every once in a while, he would cup his hand against the levee’s hole, catch some of the lake’s water, and drink it.

I asked him if he knew about the abundance of everything that was over the ridge, so close that all he had to do was stand up to take all that the lake had to offer. I asked him why, with so much within reach, with so much that he could have for himself, he chose to settle for this.

The old man looked up at me, smiled, and said, “If I am constantly taking a sip of humility, I will less likely drown in it.”