Conversations between Two Friends on a Moonlit

The garden was quiet, pleasantly lit by the evening sun. The grass was still, as were the leaves of trees, undisturbed by the mellow breeze that blew every few  minutes. They sat on the stone bench in the corner, two men, friends. They seemed to be lost in thought, each in his own world of sights, sounds and feelings, the happenings of days that had come and gone. The breeze had stopped now;It was a warm, still night.

Beautiful. The stars are out tonight. Its nice and quiet.

Yes it is.

The wife has packed a cold wine. Would you care for some?

Alright.

(…)

Well, that really is good. Do you like it?

Yes, its fine.

(…)

You are melancholy ?

(a small laugh) Melancholy? Why do you ask ?

You do not look happy, nor do you sound content or even remotely pleased.

Is there something I should be pleased about?

I do not understand you ! Today we worked hard, from dawn till dusk. The sweat of our efforts have made us rich. We ate good food, drank good wine, and now here we sit  in this beautiful garden, drinking from cold glasses on this warm night, two friends who love each other, trust each other, have known each other from the days of our youth. This, I believe, is the closest one can come to perfection. And yet, your demeanor conveys a sullenness, the cause of which I cannot imagine. Does your heart not beat with love for everything, if only for tonight?

The night is calm; I have no complaints about it.

Ah! Do you not see the beauty ? The warm smell rising from the grass, the slender shape of the leaves. Does not the rough bark make you curious? Does it not cause you to think of a bird’s nest, high up in its branches, which will tomorrow be home to new life?. Do you not see the tiny, hardworking ants, who toil like us, so that they too can rest later and feel the holiness of the night? The flower, the honey bee, the dormouse, the snail and a million other wonders, maybe things for which we have no names, rest in this grass tonight. They sleep, like us, and they too must dream, of why and how they came, and of when they will go. This is the music of the gods, and tonight, it seems, the gods have chosen to walk the earth. Do you not feel the glory, brother?

The night is calm.

Bah! In the village, you do not join in the festivities. You do not pray with the others. When the men sit around the fire, laughing and drinking, you sit and stare into the flames, not saying a word. You have no wife, no children. Perhaps you are alone? And perhaps this loneliness is in your heart tonight. You have no love in your life, my friend. That is why you are alone and that is why you cannot see the silver glow of the moon tonight.

(a small laugh) I am not lonely.

(A loud drunken laugh) Forgive me brother, but in the cold skin of a whore, one cannot find companionship.

(Again, the small laugh)

Why do you laugh, friend?

I laugh because I fear you think too much for a man with a head full of wine.

No, brother. You laugh because you are bitter. You are bitter because you are alone. If I am wrong, I beg of you, correct me.

Alright. Tonight, I smell the grass. I see the leaves, the bark. I observe the ants, the flower, the honeybee and all the rest. But I see other things as well. I see, in the woods outside this tiny garden, the hungry wolf who will catch and eat the helpless lamb, and in doing so, extinguish its life forever in the darkness of the night. I see the glowing eyes of the snake who will eat the eggs in your bird’s nest. I see the tiny fish who has been born only to feed the predators of the cold waters. I see all of the million miniscule insects, alive only for tonight, as I know they will not see dawn. I see the stars twinkle, but they too will die soon. I feel the warmth in the air, but I also know that in that warmth lies the chill of tomorrow. And that is why I cannot sing with you in the festive season, that is why I cannot pray to a god who sits in a room made by men. That is why I stare into the flames;  I see beauty in the fire, but I also see danger and death. But I am not bitter tonight; I feel a certain calm in the air.

You wallow in the darkness, my friend. It seems to me that you do not want to see God’s light.

Tell me, how beautiful would this night be if you did not have meat in your stomach and wine in your veins? Would you marvel at the art of the gods if you did not have clothes covering your body? Would the night be so warm then? Would the smell of the grass be as pleasing if you had no money in your pocket? Would the beauty still remain?

(…)

I am not sure. I must drink, maybe then I will find the answers. (Laugh)

(…)

I cannot agree with you, brother. In my mind I tried to see what you see, and it repulses me. It seems that everything is eating everything, and there is no good, no meaning, no purpose and no God in your world. It is a hell. If this is your world, the one I have just tried to see, you are truly lost. Perhaps if there was someone you loved, someone you cared about…

(Loud laugh) Would it change the nature of the world? If I were to have a wife, or a child, would the laws of reality bend for me? Would the chaos be tamed? You speak without thinking.

(Annoyed) But then is everything worthless?! Why should we even take our next breath if we live in this world of yours! What is the point of life if there is no good? If we are no better than animals, then everything we believe is a lie, isn’t it?

Much of it is lies, yes.

Thats preposterous!

(Soft laugh) An open mind is the sole prerequisite of acceptance.

(Skeptical guffaw) Accept what? That we live in a universe of filth and shit, of pretensions and lies, of endless hunger and lust. Accept that nothing is good?

What is your understanding of the word good?

What?

Good.

Good. Its…come on, man. Surely, you know the meaning of the word ?

No, I don’t know. I do not understand what is good and what is bad, what is better and what is worse. You seem to know, so I want you to tell me.

Good is…good is the blue sky, this cold wine, the wife’s smile, the summer harvest. Poetry is good, as are literature, painting, philosophy, music and the like.

And what is bad?

The murderer is bad, and so is the thief. The liar, the rapist, the gambler, the trickster… all are bad.

Can not the world’s greatest painter also be a rapist? What then? Is he much better than the rapist who cannot paint?

(laugh) You are the trickster, my friend. You jest with words, eh?

No. You have not explained to me good and bad. You speak of shadows, names given to men by other men, for the appearance of their deeds. All men are inherently equal, all just forces of of nature. Good, bad…Everything is relative.

Everything?

Everything. All rationality, all passion, all reflection. Every movement, every intention, every sight and sound. This cosmic relativity is a fundamental feature of our world. Everything here is in a constant state of flux; We are only here for a second, and after this eternal moment that we call our lives has passed, everything that was ‘we’ will cease to exist. All our emotions, our fears, our plans, our purpose…all gone. To declare that something is absolute? That is arrogance born of the ignorant mind. The book speaks of heaven and hell, of good deeds and prizes, of worship that will, in later times, bring great pleasure. It is unreasonably wishful to assign such simplicity to something that is immeasurably complex. Life is a phenomenon that we as human beings will never fully comprehend; we can only live it, each man to the best of his ability. It is an unsolvable riddle, something with no beginning and no end. We cannot describe it, for it vanishes when words try to capture it.

Then what is the use of living?! No God, no good, no meaning! If life is as you say it is, we are all already dead, all sharing the same horrible end; We are born into chaos and from the moment of birth we are simply experiencing an endless decay; Not only humans, but every living thing on earth! I see us now only as germs that ingest, excrete and copulate; Is there no value in the idea or the emotion? Is every intention not realized worthless? Are our lives worthless? Is there no beauty? Is there no meaning? What, then, is the difference between the worst of men and the best?

All individual members of the human race are intrinsically equal. there are no better and worse men; To me it seems that there are only better and worse deeds, the quality of which are relative to the time and place.

You believe that all men are the same?

In a recent dream or memory, I do not know, I saw an old man with a long white beard sitting at a table in an old room. A candle on the table was the only source of light there; I remember the look, or the feel of the old man’s eyes. It was as if he was in deep contemplation. Waking from the dream I realized that this man was the Philosopher, the man of pure idea, a man of the mind. He may have been the most intelligent man in the world, but sitting in that room, staring at that wax candle, he realized the obvious truth; He too was human, he too was aging, he too would fall victim to disease and eventually he would die. It did not matter that he had chosen the path of enlightenment instead of more sensual modes of life; He was no greater than the wanderer, or the womanizer or the murderer. The human condition permeates every individual;It seems we are only singular notes in a magnificent, universal opera. I do not believe in absolutes. I do not believe the reassuring words of the so called ‘holy’ men, who are obviously subject to the same laws of reality as every other man. I do not understand much of this thing we call life. Of what I do understand, I can never be sure.

You do not believe in God? In heaven and hell? in good and bad? Then what do you believe?

I believe that every man is alone. Born into his own skin, he has come because he desires, because he wants to be here. Life is a seemingly never ending cycle of pain, but that is not to say that there is no beauty. Sometimes I think I see it; I cannot be sure of its existence but sometimes…When the wind brushes the leaves of trees, when musical notes seem to combine in perfect structure, when the sunlight sets the world aglow…I cannot be sure. I am not sure that any of this exists, maybe it is all just the wistful imaginings of a child, but I think I have seen it glimmer on the edge of things. When I think back to it, I cannot remember. When I try to recreate it in my mind, it distorts itself. And that is why I do not speak of it.  I am afraid it will destroy itself and become like everything else. Good, bad, meaning, worth…I do not know. I cannot be certain and I have a feeling that I will never fully understand. The mind alone can never understand. And of late, I try not to think too much. The mind is not a pure thing. I do not think about the past or future; I wish to find completely the present moment and immerse myself in it, to become it. To be what I have to be, to feel what I have to feel, and to do whatever I have to do the best I can. It does not matter if this is futile or impossible, it does not matter if I am wrong. I simply wish to breathe each living breath as a free man, free in both mind and spirit. To journey with an open mind and an open heart; This is my heaven, my God, my good, my right. To be whole within even after the pain devours me, to come through the fire as an unbroken man. To be grateful for the whittling of my flaws, to choose each time with a pure intent. To do whatever I must, whatever is necessary, without being consumed by the poison of hate. To try my best to become the river, to flow on the path, self created or otherwise, it does not matter. To become what I am, what I always was, and what I always will be. Nothing more, nothing less.

(…)

More wine?

No. Let us walk back to the village.

(…)

The lights are on. My son must be awake. I read stories to him every night before he sleeps.

What kind of stories?

Stories of magic, of faraway places and gentle beings. He is a dreamy fellow.

(Smiles) Goodnight.

You are going home?

No. I think I will walk around the village for a while.

What for? Everyone is asleep.

Yes, I know. I will walk around for a few minutes. The wind is cool and the stars are out. Its a beautiful night.