One day the master called him into his room and told him he decided the youngster needs to experience how the practice is going on elsewhere and that he will send him for a year to study with his old friend, Yutaka-Sou who was the master of a temple in the capital.

The next day the young monk left with his humble belongings in a bundle and traveled, mostly walking, for two weeks until he reached the capital. There he found the temple – large and modern, in the middle of a huge, carefully tended garden. Yutaka-Sou welcomed him and accepted him as his student for a year.

The young monk loved the new temple, with comfortable monks quarters, warm in winter and cold in summer, with zendo so huge and quiet he found it at first unsettling. Without the everyday worries his mind relaxed, flowed easier and his practice deepened.

But the time went on relentlessly and finally the year has passed and the day of departure came. Yutaka-Sou bade him farewell but told him that he likes his concentration on practice and will accept him as a permanent student if he would choose to come back.

The young monk again took his bundle and walked away. He travelled with sunken heart, wondering what he will tell his old master, Tetsu-Jin when he gets back to the old temple.

After traveling, mostly walking, for a week he stopped at a temple in a town, half-way from his destination.

There during breakfast the local head monk showed him a place next to another young monk and told him he was also a traveler who arrived during the night. Naturally, they talked and were both surprised for the other monk was a student of Yutaka-Sou, just returning from the little old temple having spent a year there with Tetsu-Jin.

- It must be a great relief that you can now return to your great temple – said the young monk with envy.

- Not really, I don’t like it there – said the other monk sadly – I can’t stand the coldness of those clean rooms and corridors, this old temple reminded me of impermanence and my practice deepened. You are lucky that you can stay there all the time.

- Not at all, I can’t stand the disarray and the hardship it brings, your modern temple was a relief for my mind and my practice deepened. I was sure you consider yourself lucky to be able to stay there all the time.

The other monk just shook his head. Then they sat in silence contemplating what has happened to them. Then they promised each other to stay in touch in the future, bowed and each went his way.

A week later the young monk finally climbed the side of the mountain to where the old temple was and went straight to his old master. Tetsu-Jin greeted him warmly and the young monk recounted everything that happened to him including the meeting with the other monk. Then he asked his master to forgive him for not telling him how he felt about the old temple.

- I knew, my young friend, I knew all the time – said Tetsu-Jin smiling.

- Then this is why you arranged for my trip to the capital? And also the same happened to that other monk? – asked the young monk.

- Yes. – replied the master.

- I know there is an important teaching in this, but I can’t quite grasp it, master – said the young monk – and I don’t know what I should do now.

- As you know already, fundamentally there is no difference between this or any other place. But the teaching you both received is that you can look for places and things that would inspire you on your path to enlightenment. And that different places inspire different people – and that’s why there are different places. But at the same time you should remember all of them are essentially the same as there is only space.

- The form is empty, emptiness is form. – said the young monk.

Tetsu-Jin just smiled and said – Now rest a few days, then go back to the capital and study with Yutaka-Sou. And visit me once a year just to make your old master happy.

The door behind me opened and the captain entered the bridge. I was about to rise from my seat but he just waved to me to remain there.

- Everything alright, Jack?
- Yes, sir, goes ok. She’s on auto, everything’s fine.
- Good, good…

He walked past my seat and stood by one of the windows with his back on me. I expected some words but after a few minutes of silence I tried to resume my work. Yet somehow I couldn’t, I kept looking up at his motionless figure and then I followed his gaze. I wondered what he was looking at. In front of the bridge there was the ugly patchwork of containers of different colours extending for three hundred meters and then just sea and sky, now brightly blue as far as I could see. Nothing I could stop my eye on. “What does he watch?” I wondered trying to return to my forms and tables. I tried harder to concentrate and I almost succeeded when suddenly he spoke.

- It is beautiful – he said
- What? – I asked surprised,
- The ocean – he replied turning his head towards me with a smile – it is always beautiful. You never sailed before the academy, did you Jack?
- No, sir, I didn’t.
- No? And, do call me Mark.
- No. I didn’t. Somehow it didn’t attract me then. – I said, a bit uncomfortable without the “sir”.
- Uh, and it did me. I passed these waters some twenty years ago with a few friends on a 40 foot sail boat. That was different, you know, being closer to the ocean, slower and afraid of such giants as the one we are driving now. But it was always beautiful. – he said, looking again on the horizon.

I was lost for words, not knowing what to say. For me becoming an officer on a merchant ship was just a career choice, a well paid job more than anything else. I thought it was so for most others, judging by the short conversations we had in the mess. But here he was, a cool professional just daydreaming watching the sea from his bridge. I watched again. The thin line between the deep, almost black water and blue sky, nothing there, but those colours. I could see the waves, looking small, too small to be felt aboard Caroline. But at some point before us they were becoming just one smooth mass of water, seemingly limitless, serene and calm.

The captain finally turned away from the window and said:
- Don’t worry. It will come. With time, I guess. Have a quiet watch.
- Thanks, sir… Mark.

He just smiled and walked away through the door. I was again alone, with my thoughts in turmoil, looking at the table. I was afraid to look up, as if the ocean could pull me out of my seat through the windows. But in the end I did look again. I never regretted it.

Sitting on the only bench on top of the hill was a lone man. He looked quietly at the city before him. He was dressed in black, or at least that’s how his clothes appeared in the moonlight. It would be hard to tell his age, with his cleanly shaven, swarthy face and short hair he could easily pass as a twenty-something. He sat comfortably, with his back against the bench and hands in his lap, motionless. Only his eyes seemed alive, wandering on the horizon, following the dots of light moving in the streets below.

Suddenly, as if by magic, another man emerged from the shadows below, walking briskly towards the bench. He stopped before it and looked down onto its occupant, who seemed not taking notice with his gaze still fixed on the horizon.

- You didn’t report! – said the newcomer angrily.

Still no reaction.

- Why you didn’t report? – he asked again.

The first man looked up at the newcomer for the first time and smiled.

- Niseth, they should have told you the fashion has changed up here.
- What do you mean?
- It’s been about a century since frock coats were worn around here. I guess you don’t get out into field too much, do you?
- No, I don’t. – said Niseth sharply. – Why didn’t you report, Asbiel?
- I don’t have anything to report – replied Asbiel turning again to the horizon.
- I can understand you were not eager to come back after this failure, but come one, procedures are procedures, you should have filled a report anyway.
- Why? – said Asbiel with this eyes wandering on the streets below.
- Why? Why? What’s going on with you, I don’t recognize you, you ask why? Because that’s procedure. Because even if you would to be punished it is prescribed we should report, I had already lots of trouble because of you.
- Oh yes? I guess the others did report, then, didn’t they?
- They did. That’s why I’m here. I’m worried. We are worried. We are the best field office on the continent, we score the most points and now this. You should be working hard on a next subject to make up for this loss, but instead you just didn’t report or show up.

A silence followed. Then Niseth tried again.
- Tell me what’s going on, Asbie, we have known each other since Academy, you were always one of the best. What happened?

Asbiel moved to the side of the bench and gestured to Niseth to sit down. Then he looked down at the city again.
- Look there, Nisi.
- And?
- There is no “and”, just watch.

Nisteh sat on the bench, but he could not follow Asbiel’s gaze. He wriggled uncomfortably for some time, then spoke again.

- Why did you screw up? After that last case I assigned you an easy subject. We knew from the start she would be a beauty, and they are always easy to catch. Especially with such parents, I was sure, it would be a short case and she’ll be ours. And then, almost ninety years and now he is with the Enemy… up there…
- She’s in Heaven – said Asbiel quietly.

Niseth almost jumped at the sound of this word then looked amazed at his companion.

- You can say that?
- Yes. And much more.
- But how.
- Thanks to love.

Niseth almost fell out of the bench.

- Stop that! It hurts!
- Come on, Nisi, I’m sure they did wrote it in the reports, didn’t they? – Asbiel turned smiling towards him.
- About what? About your abilities? You know others can’t follow you if you don’t allow them to, and you shut others out pretty soon.
- No. About Her. About what she did. About her life, her love towards all the men and women around her, about her family, her work for the poor, about her care even for the animals. About the foundation she started that is doing so much good everywhere. Didn’t they tell you?
- Yes, they did! – said Niseth sadly – We had a hell of a trouble because of that. The regional heads inquired, I even got calls from the HQ. She was a thorn in our side all the time. And I kept reassuring them I put one of my best Tempters on her and it would all crumble one day. But you failed.
- No, I didn’t.
- What?
- I helped her. – said Asbiel.

For a moment the two just looked at each other in silence.

- But why? You can’t switch sides, you’re a demon for Lucifer’s sake! – said Niseth.
- I know.
- Then why?
- I love her. – said Asbiel turning again to the city below.

Niseth grabbed his head with his hands.
- That’s impossible, that can’t be… What will I report to the boss…
- Yeah, boss, points, office, results… – chuckled Asbiel.
- But it makes no sense. No sense at all. You couldn’t have touched her. You can’t become human.
- I didn’t say I touched her, I said I love her. You won’t get it, Nisi, don’t try.
- But why? Why? Why … this odious felling… how could you contract it from a mere skinjob?
- I said, don’t try to analyze it, you won’t get it.

Niseth collapsed onto the bench, overwhelmed. He couldn’t understand it. The reports were bad, but that was even worse. That was not possible. He tried to imagine how he would explain to the regional boss that one of his Tempters, the best to be honest, just betrayed them. He would be degraded and sent down below to torment the souls, dirty and tiring job of Torturers, he always looked down upon with a mix of disdain and satisfaction. At best they would send him out to the world to tempt souls, like a freshman, straight out of Academy. He would be everyone’s joke for centuries. There his thoughts stopped. Slowly he has begun to just stare at the city below, suddenly envious of its habitants’ blissful ignorance.

- You see… – Asbiel broke the silence – it all started soon after my assignment begun. She was not as easy to sway as the briefing said. Yeah, she was a beauty, but also on the inside. It is rare, but it happened. But at first, I tried. When she was fifteen I almost made her do drugs, she tried acid once and then in her vision saw me. She was so scared, she never touched that stuff again. But I… I didn’t feel right about it. I didn’t want to scare her, I didn’t feel right. And I discovered for the first time… I was ashamed… And I felt compassion towards her. Compassion, you know, Nisi?

The only thing Niseth could do was to stare at the streets below.

- Naa… you don’t. I don’t blame you. We are not supposed to. So, I started helping her. At first it were just little things. Then it grew. When she was twenty I saved her from a car crash. In the last moment I bent a window frame so that her head landed perfectly on the airbag.
- We thought it was the enemy’s guardian who did that! – said Niseth, amazed.
- No, he was too slow. And too surprised. But it was after this that I saw him face to face for the first time.
- What did you do, Asbiel, what did you do…
- I saved her, Nisi, and it was then that I discovered my admiration for her. She went out on that slippery road to be with a friend who was ill, you know? Yeah, it changed me. You wonder why I can say all those words that burn your lips? I can do much more, I can even kind of pray though it still pains a bit.

Niseth just stared at him in disbelief. He was already well past the point after which he could just accept what reality threw at him.

- And you know what was the worst? That she didn’t know I was on her side. At some point her guardian angel started talking to me. I think we developed a kind of cautious friendship. In the end, when she fell ill, we took shifts by her bedside. But he didn’t love her, he was too pure for that, he just loved everything and everyone. But I did.
- What else did you do, you poor devil?? – asked Niseth – This foundation’s success, that’s your doing, isn’t it? You were always good with money…
- Oh, yes, I helped her with this. For the first time my skills were used for good, Nisi, and I felt joy, one you don’t know, true, bright joy as I saw her foundation growing, kids saved from starvation, getting chance to lead good lives.
- At least she never knew about you! – said Niseth
- Oh no, you’re wrong with that too. Just before she departed her guardian told me the Lord would call her soon. I revealed myself to her together with him. We spoke all night. I confessed to her. She forgave me all I did to her in her childhood. She said I changed since she saw me then. She thanked me for all I did. – Asbiel smiled at his memory…
- Oh, great fairy tale, but now she is up there and you are stuck here. Alone. – said Niseth with cold satisfaction.
- That is true. But I don’t regret.

Asbiel stood up.
- I think it’s time for me now. I won’t return. Ever.
- We’ll crush you. – said Niseth with cold anger
- You know as well as I do that you can’t harm me. We are spirits. You can’t kill me.
- You can’t just switch sides, those are the basic rules of the game.
- Maybe. But I can remain here. Free. And she’ll pray for me, I know that.
- You completely lost it!
- No, I found. I wish you could too, some day. Good bye, Nisi.

Asbiel turned and walked downhill through the grass, away from the bench. Niseth watched him disappear, unable to say a word, suddenly powerless and weak.

Some try to catch the best of those they are privileged to see. They are like fishermen in a flood or wanderers in a desert trying to catch and preserve the most beautiful grains of sand in a raging sandstorm. They are trying to freeze images as we freeze food, trying to preserve its color, smell, taste. Trying to conserve the sparks of emotions they ignited within.

If they catch them with a machine, we call them photographers. If they do it with a hand armed with a brush we call them painters. If they do it with bare hands we call them mimes. And those of us who do it with words are called writers.

I have been out fishing tonight. I caught some moments – beautiful and not, reflective or sad, mostly black & white. I carried them carefully home, like butterflies, still alive in the grasp of my mind, still flapping their wings feebly. I will now pin them down with words, freeze them, so that I could revive them later in an attempt to induce them in others.

But why? I don’t know and I don’t even care. I have to. They seem so precious, those few out of myriad. They’re mine.

The sun shines, it’s so hot. I just lie. I try to understand why I ended up here, in a park, in the middle of a summer day, disoriented, thirsty. I was sure she likes me. She smiled so broadly when she saw me, she took me in her arms with care and laughter. And then, fifteen minutes later she just tossed me, left me here on this lawn without a word.

I thought she likes him too. He was so worried when he carried me with him, when he paced up and down the alley, waiting. I could feel his hands tremble a bit just before she appeared. I thought she likes him enough to take me as his gift. But no. Soon after he was gone I flew into the air and felt here. I don’t get it. I try. Despite the thirst.

I have this strange feeling I know her. Or I knew her. Somehow her touch was familiar. But I don’t remember. I don’t have much memory. And much time. I’m just a rose.

It won’t be long now, in this sun. I feel thirst. I feel it coming up my stalk. Oh, I’m glad the grass is here. It’s better this way…

Each contains a story inside, a huge novel, made up of moments, some sad, some joyful but mostly dull, mundane, menial. The best part of all is they are still being written, moving, changing as some memories fade and others rise, as emotions flow, as views change, as sounds vibrate.

If only I knew the secret Language of the Souls, I could read them, page by page. But I can only sense their vibes, the stirring behind their covers.

And I can browse my own pages of thoughts and cast them into words. Here.

Amongst them was a small dog, a miniature pinscher, who was all but slow and quiet. He leapt into the air, somersaulted and landed, carried away a few feet by the wind. He then run back and did it again. And again. He barked cheerfully, announcing his joy to the world. He was happy. For much of his short life he dreamed about being able to fly. Now he could.

The talk was slow. After a few exchanges I knew they prefer their own company and just listened silently to their chatter. As we were going smoothly through green suburbia one of them finished discussing how communist rule spoiled the society (in the context of seat-belts), and noticed the beauty of the landscape. After a while of complimenting back and forth how nice the surroundings were The Non-Photographer remarked, that he hates all the billboards and signs along the road, that distract him greatly when he drives. On top of that, he said, they also spoil such a great countryside.

- Oh, yes, that kills sensitivity for true beauty in the society – commented The Famous Photographer expertly,
- It has to be regulated! – said The Non-Photographer angrily,
- Absolutely, corrupting the countryside like this should be prohibited – agreed The Famous Photographer.

And we drove on. I just sat there with a sad half-smile, wondering whether I already lost my sensitivity for true beauty. Did you?

I was in a large, empty parking lot, like in shopping malls, with celling supported by yellow painted pillars. I sat in meditation in roshi’s robes. Suddenly I had a strong feeling of presence behind me. After a while, unable to ignore it, I turned and looked. There was no one there. Just pillars. I resumed my posture. A while later a small, brown mouse walked past my left leg from behind. It stopped and looked up at me with its small eyes. I looked at him and smiled. He moved his whiskers and walked away.

I woke up.

I woke up with a mild headache. The sun was already up and as always I managed to hit snooze on the alarm at least five times before it finally got me so it’s already late. But while I move to the bathroom I don’t think of the hour still having in my head the dream I just woke up from. It was strange, yet I’m already forgetting it as I desperately try to pin down some images to my memory. There was a girl in this dream, she smiled at me, pushing her hair off her face. She had long, black hair – so deeply black that I saw streaks of blue as the sun reflected off her head. Her smile was friendly, warm, nurturing, not demanding anything or trying to force me into something. So unlike all other smiles I knew. We talked but I can’t recall now what she said.

Happy that I saved at least her image from oblivion I keep my mind on it as I go through my standard morning procedure. Twenty minutes later I close the door of my apartment and start to walk towards the bus stop. Soon enough I notice today would be different. Instead of normal folk I see a group of football fans waiting for the bus. They are all big, shaved head types, cans of beer in their hands. They wear their three-colored scarves and silly green T-shirts with their club’s large logo on the front. As I approach the stop they sing a song about their club, their coarse voices badly out of sync.

I’m afraid of them. I’m scared. In fact I’m beginning to panic knowing at the same time they are likely to pick up my fear and it’s going to excite them more. Beating weaklings, especially greatly outnumbered weaklings is their favorite entertainment. I try not to look on them, ignore them, knowing it makes it worse but not wanting them to read the fear from my eyes. I can tame animals by looking into their eyes, but not shaved heads. Animals don’t attack for fun, they do it only if they are afraid, hungry or sick.

As I stand there they stop to sing. I can feel their eyes on my back. I’m quite out of place amongst them on this bus-stop in my suit & tie. The bag with the laptop on my shoulder seems heavier than ever. I’m starting to think it was a big mistake to stick my nose out today, but I had no choice. The silence is unnatural, I feel my skin crawl on my back against my will. Suddenly, the bus stops and the doors open just a feet or two before my face. I jump in.

As the bus moves out I glance through windows at the bus stop. To my relief I see they are still there, sitting on the bench and staring with their expressionless faces at the bus. I look around, but folks in the bus seem pretty normal. No green t-shirts and stupid singing. There is even a free seat on the front. As I sit there I can feel drops of sweat coming down from under my armpits. I take a few deep breaths and pretend everything is ok.

A woman next to me is reading the paper. My eyes catch the headline “Masters’ Cup Final Today!” and bellow in smaller print “Traffic problems and riots expected as thousands of fans descend on the city”. That explains everything. Once again because of not reading local news and not watching TV I’m walking into middle of a disaster. As I congratulate myself on my stupidity I try to recall where the Centennial Stadium is. As the bus moves on from another stop the same stupid song comes from the back – here they are again. I realize too late this line goes exactly to the regions it would be better to avoid now.

I concentrate to figure out another way of getting to the other side of Bay, where my office is and where this green-dressed plague probably won’t get. As the bus collects new groups of shaved heads and starts to fill with the smell of beer and sweat it turns towards the Vincent Park. I realize that on the other end of it there is a metro station, if I could get there I would be able to move to the center and then off to the South. And in the metro it should be safer, as the yellow line doesn’t go the Stadium. I quickly make up my mind and jump out on the next stop, nearly deaf from the singing.

No one else descends, though. Instead another group of fans gets in, waving their scarves and beer cans. As the bus moves out the singing dwarfs even its engine, scarves hang from all windows and the inside is just one mass of green with pale dots of shaved, expressionless faces.

The sun is up now and it’s getting quite hot. I watch with relief as the bus moves away. I turn towards the entrance to the park and realize I jumped from the pan into the fire. Groups of fans come through the park towards me. I realize too late they must had the same idea, just the other way round. They probably come from the station I was hoping to get to. Bad. But it will get worse when they’ll get here. I have to move somewhere, quickly. In a desperate move I enter the park and immediately turn left, away from the main alley. Just as I turn into a small path behind some bushes I can hear the group I’ve seen previously reach the bus stop. I left just in time.

I keep on walking. I want to get as far as possible from the main alley and the shaved heads. Luckily for me they move in groups; loud groups singing or screaming (apparently they can’t talk), some touting horns and generally making lots of noise. This gives me tactical advantage, as I move silently easily avoiding them. Now that I’m in a terrain with plenty of possibilities for maneuver or places to hide should I need to I relax a bit. Gradually, as I work my way through the park, the singing becomes fainter and fainter. Finally I find a quiet place, I slow down and look around. I notice a bench tucked against some thujas and bushes. I look around, making sure no one can’t approach this place without being noticed. It looks safe so I decide to sit down for a while.

I put my bag beside me and gradually relax watching the lake. It’s clean, I can see some small fish swimming under the surface. Over the normal noise of the city I can occasionally hear the horns of the fans but apart from that no trace of them. I stretch on the bench admiring the park. It is mostly flat, so just above the green of trees I can see the skyline of the city and above it just the sky. It is clear, with this particular deep shade of blue that you can find only in the south. Though I can’t see the ocean I can feel its presence. It always amazed me that the presence of an ocean or sea can always be felt through a city, even in places where you can’t see nor even smell it. I felt it when I first came here. I guess that’s why I moved here and called this place my home.

- Excuse me, sir…

I almost jumped up at those words. I turn to see a riot policeman clad in his black uniform and helmet, with a long black truncheon on his belt. His visor is raised, his black face half smiling at me. I can see others spaced evenly moving through the park.

- Sir, you must leave the park now. They are going to prepare it for the mass this evening and…
- A mass?? – I interrupt him, disoriented.
- Yes, sir. The Archbishops would hold a mass here in the park to celebrate the Eucharistic Conference if I remember right. Now sir, if you please…

I think fast now. Police would remove the fans too, now if only I could exit where I planned…

- Can I exit on the other end, officer? I was trying to get to the Vincent Park Station on the yellow line, but with all those fans… you know…

He considers it as one of his colleagues stops to watch us. After a second he decides I’m not a likely terrorist and waves to the other one to move along with the rest.

- Well, sir, I guess we could make an exception for you. You could go with us to the main alley and then go to the eastern exit.
- Thank you, officer.

I get up from the bench and follow him over the grass. We are now a little behind their lines. As far as I can see to the left and right there are black uniforms sweeping through park.

A match and a, how did he call it? Eucharistic conference? All that in one day, in one city and of course in my way. I imagine how much fun those guys would have in the evening, with thousands of faithful here and thousands of fans, by then totally drunk, loose around the Greens. I think with sympathy about their tuff job but I don’t say anything.

To be continued soon.