The Monk sat there, dazed in an ectasy of dogma and doctrine, saying his words and thinking his thoughts to... clear his mind? And, indeed, he had been trying to. The words and doctrine and dogma had simply been keeping everything the least bit cloudy. Meanwhile, underneath a blanket of leaves the trees held high, there was a man who did not stir. His mind had finally silenced itself. Not by the visions of the temple, no, he had never stepped foot in there, let alone read a character from their literature. He was void of all indoctrination. A simple farmer, going into town to trade some goods. He had lived in the mountains and forests all his life, and all the while, from child to man they had whispered in his ear, and he had listened. That energy, that endless and indescribable force within everything - how could anyone miss it? It was in every piece of dirt, every turn of stone, forest trees and branch's leaves. Every creature and element within and without all that he had seen... Yet the monks withdrew into the confounds of the temple. The farmer wondered, however, was it easier to feel it, to see it in there? He imagined it was harder to see things when they are taught not to see them. Perhaps they had a plan. Nevertheless, he was free now. It mattered not whether he should visit them. But the people of the town were almost to the point of hopelessness. They toiled and sweat, and pained and raged day by day - without a glimpse of what the farmer had realized that was all around them. If he could only show them! It would changes things. Many things. He would visit them, and perhaps, along selling his rice and other crops, he would also give them a direction.. That, over time and maturity, would help them open their eyes to what he saw. Now, though, the man was lost indefinitely in a sea of limitless energy, limitless perception and unending vibes of some sort of infinite love - and, for a while, he did not stir.
