Fetching Water
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“Master, I cannot sleep.”
“Then help me fetch water. The buckets are heavy, and I am not as young as I was.”
“Do you have sleepless nights?”
“Of course. Here, you take this one. Be careful, the rod is unbalanced. The left bucket is heavier. Make sure your shoulders are level.”
“What do you do when they come?”
“Stand up straight. There. Your load is not so heavy that it can excuse poor posture. In my youth, I was often acquainted with the lonely hours. I would sit, read, think on mistakes of the past and uncertainties of the future. I would write, sometimes. And then, of course, I found that I was especially adept at fetching water.”
“How did you eventually sleep, master? What made you stop being afraid?”
“Exhaustion, mostly. And acceptance. When fear realizes that you are at peace with being afraid, it no longer occupies your mind with the same tenacity. Ah, here we are. Have you ever listened to a stream at night? Just sat and listened?”
“No.”
“It’s pretty. Come. These buckets will not fill themselves.”
“It just … it really bothers me, when I can’t sleep. I get scared, and I get angry, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t not think, and what I do think about, I … I’d rather not. I don’t know what to do.”
“Watch your step. There is algae growing on those rocks. This old man has slipped a few times himself. And what do you think about?”
“I … it’s not that I actually want to do these things, I just ….”
“What do you think about?”
“I … I think about doing … I think about raping little girls. I imagine torturing and killing people for no reason. I fantasize about killing myself. It’s just … Master, think of breathing. You see? You can’t help but think about it. This is the same way. I lie there trying to focus on love and compassion, and something inside me brings the opposite into my mind. I think of the most terrible things I can do, and I am afraid.”
“That you will do these things?”
“That I can do these things.”
“Do not fill the buckets to the brim. Ready? Good. You are looking for comfort, for peace. I cannot offer comfort. It is not mine to give. And I cannot offer peace. You are looking in the wrong place.”
“Looking within, I’m afraid of what I’ll see. Do you remember when we climbed to the mountain peak?”
“Yes. It was a cloudless sky the day we reached the top. Everything was so bright.”
“Master, the whole way, I never looked down. I stood well away from edges. I am not afraid of heights. I have never been afraid of heights. But when I was up there, I knew that I could jump, and I … I was afraid that I would jump.”
“Lift with your knees. Keep your back straight. Do you know what I remember from our climb?”
“No.”
“I remember when we reached the peak. The mountain air was cool, and the countryside was bathed in sunlight. In every direction, there were trees, meadows, wisps of chimney smoke. The sky was blue and endless that day. We sat in silence for many hours.
“Were you afraid of jumping then? What was in your heart at the top of the mountain?”
“… Nothing. There was nothing in my heart. I was empty.”
“Yes. Despite everything that has happened to you, a lifetime of little memories and thoughts and feelings, you know that you can still be empty.
“But these buckets are not. Shift the weight a little to the right. There. Try not to sway like that. Guilty feet have got no rhythm.”
“Thank you, I … Master, isn’t that from a Wham! song?”
“The tune is quite catchy. It is all I can do to tell you that you are not alone in your fears, and that fear does not define who you are. I will tell you something else, though. Come closer.”
“Yes? Ow! Master, that hurt! Pinching my nose isn’t –”
“Everything you think you are is only what is arising within your awareness. But what is this awareness that names itself, that fears what it names, that rejoices in dispelling those fears, hm?
“I will not hold your hand and tell you that you are safe from yourself. No one will. No one can. Now stop standing there and get moving. Four buckets of water will not last the entire day. And we are still the only ones up.”
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