Thursday, January 12, 2006
Page 13
“Most plants make their own soil, producing it as they survive, they keep making it as they spread. Think of all of this as being very, very old, and spreading over all that time along the path of…” Teacher kneeled down and took his stick, twirling it in to the sand at the very edge of the loose, sparse soil with a plant nearby. After a moment he pulled it up with thick extremely wet sand on the end of it.
“In a month the plants could be buried with sand and dead, a month after that they could be free to take from both the light of the sun and the water below and burst with life in the soil. Notice how small they are, but notice also how rich the life around this line along which the water flows when the sand is this low. Water is a common need among almost all living things. People are as likely to cluster such lines and underground rivers as anything else. They are superior for hunting, looking for fruits or nuts, and trading. However, were I to be personally to be chased by an enemy, I would avoid it like a diseased carcass.”
The boy found a plant with a plant with gourd fruit that was being picked at by small animals, and he soon trapped it to catch larger ones as it was beginning to get dark and a good breakfast was always welcome.
With each passing day, week, more skills and teachings were imparted to the youth as he followed in the stranger’s footsteps. They spoke of nothing other than the way, and its influences and practices in the real world. The old man could hardly be a stranger still, though the boy knew little of them. How little can a master and student know of each other? In a way, maybe nothing could be known with a diligent will, but in another way, nothing at all could be hidden, regardless of diligence.
After some considerable time, the teacher relented that there would be no persuading the boy to leave. Perhaps he had been too kind, and definitely he had been too generous with his teachings thus far. It was too late to do otherwise, the work must be completed, and deeper fundamentals would have to be taught before real growth of the boy’s soul could ever occur; the sort of growth that he would never have achieved as a member of his own tribe of warriors.
“There are only a few things that I will absolutely expect of you if you will not give up following me. One of them is that you must learn to read.”
“Read?”
“Did any of the Re’nan read?”
“I don’t think so…”
“Then you will be the first, it is a skill you will find most indispensable.”
“Is it anything like archery?”
The Teacher smiled and rustled a hand inside of his robes, searing the pocket till he pulled out a small pack of papers bound between some cured leather.
“Imagine if you could talk to someone who lived a thousand years ago, on the other side of the world. The ability to read, is sort of like the ability to do that. Say the words we say, we also talk with our hands when we signal, right?”
“Right…”
Placing his feet so as to do a small turn, the teacher leaned over and handed the bound pages to the boy.
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“In a month the plants could be buried with sand and dead, a month after that they could be free to take from both the light of the sun and the water below and burst with life in the soil. Notice how small they are, but notice also how rich the life around this line along which the water flows when the sand is this low. Water is a common need among almost all living things. People are as likely to cluster such lines and underground rivers as anything else. They are superior for hunting, looking for fruits or nuts, and trading. However, were I to be personally to be chased by an enemy, I would avoid it like a diseased carcass.”
The boy found a plant with a plant with gourd fruit that was being picked at by small animals, and he soon trapped it to catch larger ones as it was beginning to get dark and a good breakfast was always welcome.
* * *
With each passing day, week, more skills and teachings were imparted to the youth as he followed in the stranger’s footsteps. They spoke of nothing other than the way, and its influences and practices in the real world. The old man could hardly be a stranger still, though the boy knew little of them. How little can a master and student know of each other? In a way, maybe nothing could be known with a diligent will, but in another way, nothing at all could be hidden, regardless of diligence.
After some considerable time, the teacher relented that there would be no persuading the boy to leave. Perhaps he had been too kind, and definitely he had been too generous with his teachings thus far. It was too late to do otherwise, the work must be completed, and deeper fundamentals would have to be taught before real growth of the boy’s soul could ever occur; the sort of growth that he would never have achieved as a member of his own tribe of warriors.
“There are only a few things that I will absolutely expect of you if you will not give up following me. One of them is that you must learn to read.”
“Read?”
“Did any of the Re’nan read?”
“I don’t think so…”
“Then you will be the first, it is a skill you will find most indispensable.”
“Is it anything like archery?”
The Teacher smiled and rustled a hand inside of his robes, searing the pocket till he pulled out a small pack of papers bound between some cured leather.
“Imagine if you could talk to someone who lived a thousand years ago, on the other side of the world. The ability to read, is sort of like the ability to do that. Say the words we say, we also talk with our hands when we signal, right?”
“Right…”
Placing his feet so as to do a small turn, the teacher leaned over and handed the bound pages to the boy.
<- Page 12 Page 14 ->
# posted by BentSea @ 1:05 PM 
