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In the times of ancestors the native people were seeking refuge and shelter in the forests and mountains. They blended in with the nature and stayed quiet for some time... I entered the forest. As usual i just followed the path then i continue along the stream. It gets smaller and smaller and in area where the stream is gone, somewhere near, a bit higher a spring could be found. I can feel my legs, but thirst is bigger i have to find some water. I look up and few meters above me a monk is looking at me and smiling. I climb up and he offers me a bottle with water. I have a sit and make a sip. Breathing deep, trying to recharge and regain some strength.
No longer intoxicated, no longer feverish, its desires all uprooted, its uncertainties shed, overweening desire thrown away, its loves brought to an end, with no more possessiveness... Carry on!
I try to make another sip, but he takes the bottle and puts it under his cloth, then closes his eyes. He is not smiling anymore. And i go on, upwards. I think i am looking at the top, but when i climb the rock i realize, i am standing on a plateau and notice another monk on the path that is leading towards the huge boulder.
If the spirit will brake, no skill will help you.
And he points towards the boulder. And i continue with passion. Bite in the rock, pull myself with quick moves. And higher and higher. I reach the top and another monk is standing with a stick in his hand.
Ha. Youre good with a metaphor, lets see how you can handle the stick.
He pressed gently with the tip of the stick against by belly. And then pushed with great force that kicked me off the boulder. Off the plateau. I lost the balance and fell even further, all the way down to the stream where i bumped with my back against a tree-log. I barely could breath and was not able to utter a word.