Desperation had propelled him into travel. After months of seemingly fruitless seeking, through means that appeared entirely serendipitous, he happened upon the Sacred Place, and there he learned the Sacred Name. He sojourned there for a time to imbibe wisdom from the residents of the Place, and to strengthen his new life and habits. Finally, though, he knew it was time to return across the seas, to the rude city where he had never really felt at home.
Once there, he found the level of noise and confusion to be far more repellant even than what he remembered from the past, for now he knew of other possibilities. Impelled by economic necessity, however, he took a simple job delivering packages, and settled into life there, although still with great difficulty.
One day he walked into an auto supply store with a box to deliver cradled in his arms. He sat down at the counter on one of the tall, revolving-seat chairs, and waited for a clerk who could sign for and accept the package.
With nothing else to occupy him, he repeated the Sacred Name to himself. Suddenly, though, he was seized by a sudden Inspiration. He took his pen from his pocket and there, upon that counter pockmarked with numerous carvings and graffiti scrawled by bored customers, he printed in neat, mid-sized letters, the Sacred Name.
A moment later, the clerk came. The pilgrim handed over the package and went on his way. From that day on, though, he had a Mission. Whenever and wherever he could do so without being noticed: in restrooms, on bulletin boards or outdoor walls...he would print that Name. Never huge, but always clear.
This outlet finally brought him some relief from the torment he had known since returning. He went about his secret mission devotedly, as he continued his daily job, and experienced a measure of peace. Life was now tolerable.
On weekends he would often go to a cafe, order a drink, and read the books he had brought back from the Sacred Place. Nearly always now, a fellow customer would approach his table and, politely excusing the interruption, inquire about the book and the picture on its cover. The devotee would patiently explain, and answer questions, to the best of his ability.
As time went on, the inquirers would return and engage him in further conversation. After still more time, they began to ask whether there might be regular gatherings they could attend.
The years went on and in what he had once thought of as the "town without pity" where he had been born and raised, he came to feel nothing but sweetness and compassion toward the residents, and to help them in any way he could. Several of his companions at the now-weekly gatherings began to inquire whether they, too, might make a pilgrimage to the Sacred Place. He encouraged them to do so and passed on to them all the information he could to facilitate their journey.
The years, then the decades, flew past. The pilgrim retired from his delivery job and spent more years enjoying his peaceful, vibrant life. Finally, though, he lay on his deathbed, surrounded by dear friends who would say and sing the Name with him, and who assured him they would carry on the work.
As the pilgrim neared the fateful moment of transition, he could no longer think of a single regret he had. He thought back to his Pilgrimage so long ago and that first writing of the Sacred Name upon the auto supply counter's surface after his return. And of the slow transformation of the city around him, under the influence of the Sacred Name.
*****
[copyright 2024 by Max Reif]
Contact:
REALnothings@comcast.net
