WAY OF THE PEACEFUL WARRIOR: A Book That Changes Lives

by Dan Millman

  At my expression, Socrates almost fell out of his chair laughing and Joseph had to lean against a table. “Ah,” I said, with a sigh of relief. “A joke, then.”

  Without another word, Joseph took the plates and returned with two beautiful wooden bowls. In each bowl was a perfectly carved, miniature replica of a mountain. The mountain itself was a blended combination of cantaloupe and honeydew melon. Small chunks of walnuts and almonds, individually carved, became brown boulders. The craggy cliffs were made from apples and thin slices of cheese. The trees were made of many pieces of parsley, each pruned to a perfect shape, like bonsai trees. An icing of yogurt capped the peak. Around the base were halved grapes and a ring of fresh strawberries.

  I sat and stared. “Joseph, it’s too beautiful. I can’t eat this; I want to take a picture of it.” Socrates, I noticed, had already begun eating, nibbling slowly, as was his manner. So I attacked the mountain in my customary fashion and was almost done, when Socrates suddenly started gobbling his food. I realized he was mimicking me.

  I did my best to take small bites, breathing deeply between each bite as he did, but it seemed frustratingly slow.

  “The pleasure from eating, Dan, is more than the taste of the food and the feeling of a full belly. Learn to enjoy the entire process — the hunger beforehand, the careful preparation, setting an attractive table, chewing, breathing, smelling, tasting, swallowing, and the feeling of lightness and energy after the meal. You can even enjoy the full and easy elimination of the food after it’s digested. When you pay attention to all elements of the process, you’ll begin to appreciate simple meals.”

  “The irony of your present eating habits is that while you fear missing a meal, you aren’t fully aware of the meals you do eat.”

  “I’m not afraid of missing a meal.”

  “Glad to hear that. It will make the coming week easier for you.”

  “Huh?”

  “This is your last meal for the next seven days.” Soc proceeded to outline a purifying fast that I was to begin immediately. Diluted fruit juice and plain herb teas were to be my only fare.

  “Hold on, Socrates. I need protein and iron to help my leg heal; I need my energy for gymnastics.” It was no use. Socrates could be a very unreasonable man.

  We helped Joseph with a few chores, talked for a while, thanked him, and left. I was already hungry. While we walked back toward campus, Socrates summarized the disciplines I was to follow until my body regained its natural instincts.”In a few years, there will be no need for rules. You can experiment and trust your instincts. For now, however, you’re to avoid foods that contain refined sugar, refined flour, and meat, as well as coffee, alcohol, tobacco, or any other drugs. Focus on fresh fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and legumes. I don’t believe in extremes, but for now, make breakfast a fresh fruit meal, with occasional yogurt. Your lunch, your main meal, should be a raw salad, baked or steamed potato, and whole-grain bread or cooked grains. Dinner should be a raw salad and, on occasion, lightly steamed vegetables. Make good use of raw, unsalted seeds and nuts at every meal.”

  “I guess by now you’re quite an expert on nuts, Soc,” I grumbled.

  On the way home, we passed by a neighborhood grocery store. I was about to go inside and get some cookies when I remembered that I was no longer allowed to eat store-bought cookies. And for the next six days and twenty-three hours, I wouldn’t be eating anything at all.

  “Socrates, I’m hungry.”

  “I never said that the training of a warrior would be a piece of cake.”

  We walked through the campus just between classes, so Sproul Plaza was filled with people. I gazed wistfully at the pretty coeds. Socrates touched my arm. “That reminds me, Dan. Cookies aren’t the only sweet things you’re going to have to avoid for a while.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. “I want to make sure I understand you. Can you be more specific?”

  “Sure. Until you’re sufficiently mature, keep it in your pants.”

  “But, Socrates,” I argued, as if on trial for my life, “that’s puritanical, unreasonable, and unhealthy. Cutting down on food is one thing, but this is different!” I started quoting the “Playboy Philosophy,” Albert Ellis, Robert Rimmer, Jacqueline Susann, and the Marquis de Sade. I even threw in Reader’s Digest and “Dear Abby,” but nothing moved him.

  He said, “There’s no point in my trying to explain my reasons; you’re just going to have to find your future thrills in fresh air, fresh food, fresh water, fresh awareness, and sunshine.”

  “How can I possibly do all that?”

  “Consider the final words the Buddha spoke to his disciples.”

  “What’s that?” I asked awaiting inspiration.

  “‘Just do your best.’” With that, he vanished into the crowd.

  The next week, my rites of initiation got under way. While my stomach growled, Soc filled my nights with “basic” exercises, teaching me how to breathe more deeply and slowly. I plodded on, doing my best, feeling lethargic, looking forward to my (ugh!) diluted fruit juice and herb tea, dreaming about steaks and sweet rolls. And I didn’t even particularly like steaks or sweet rolls!

  He told me to breathe with my belly one day, and to breathe with my heart the next. He began to criticize my walking, my talking, the way my eyes wandered around the room as my “mind wandered around the universe.” Nothing I did seemed to satisfy him.

  Over and over he corrected me, sometimes gently, sometimes harshly. “Proper posture is a way of blending with gravity, Dan. Proper attitude is a way of blending with life.” And so it went.

  The third day of the fast was the hardest. I was weak and cranky; I had headaches and bad breath. “All part of the purification process, Dan. Your body is cleansing itself, he told me. At workout, all I did was lie around and stretch.”

  By the seventh day, I was actually feeling good. My hunger had disappeared; in its stead was a pleasant lassitude and a feeling of lightness. Workouts actually improved. Limited only by my weak leg, I trained hard, feeling relaxed and more supple than ever.

  When I started eating on the eighth day, beginning with very small amounts of fruit, I had to use all my willpower not to start gorging myself on whatever food remained on Soc’s menu for me.

  He tolerated no complaints, no back talk. In fact, he didn’t want me to talk at all unless it was absolutely necessary. “No more idle jabbering,” he said. “What comes out of your mouth is as important as what goes into it.” I learned to censor most of my more inane comments. It actually felt good to talk less, once I started getting the knack of it. I felt calmer, somehow. But after a few weeks I longed for more conversation.

  “Soc, I’ll bet you a dollar that I can make you say more than two words.”

  He held out his hand, palm up, saying, “You lose.”

  Because of my gymnastics successes in the past, I believed my training with Socrates would go the same way. But before long I realized that, as Socrates had predicted, it wasn’t going to be a piece of cake.

  My main problem was fitting in socially with my friends. Rick, Sid, and I took dates to LaVal’s for pizza. Everyone else, including my date, shared an extra-large sausage pizza; I ordered a small whole-wheat, vegetarian special. They had milk shakes or beer; I sipped my apple juice. They wanted to go to Fenton’s Ice Cream Parlor afterward. While they ate their sundaes, I ordered mineral water and ended up sucking on a piece of ice. I looked at them enviously; they looked back at me as if I were a little crazy. And maybe they were right. Anyway, my social life was collapsing under the weight of my disciplines.

  I would walk blocks out of my way to avoid the donut shops, food stands, and outdoor restaurants near campus. My cravings and compulsions only seemed to grow stronger, but I fought back. If I turned into a jellyfish over a jelly donut, how could I face Socrates?

  Over time, though, I began to feel a growing resistance. I complained to Socrates, in spite of his dark look. “Soc, you’re no fun anymore. You’ve become
an ordinary grumpy old man; you never even glow.”

  He glowered at me. “No more magic tricks,” was all he said. That was just it — no tricks, no sex, no potato chips, no hamburgers, no candy, no donuts, no fun, and no rest; only discipline inside and out.

  January trudged by; February had flown, and now March was nearly over. The team was finishing the season without me.

  Again I told Socrates my feelings, but he offered no consolation, no support. “Socrates, I’m a real spiritual boy scout. My friends don’t want to go out with me anymore. You’re ruining my life!”

  He only resumed his paperwork and said, “Just do your best.”

  “Well, thank you for the stirring pep talk.” I was starting to resent having another person — even Socrates — direct my life.

  Still, I fulfilled every rule with teeth-clenching determination until one day, during workout, in walked the dazzling nurse who had starred in my erotic fantasies since my stay in the hospital. She sat down quietly and watched our aerial routines. Almost immediately, I noticed, everyone in the gym was inspired to a new level of energy, and I was no exception.

  Pretending to be immersed in practice, I glanced at her every now and then out of the corner of my eye. Her tight silk pants and halter top had snared my concentration; my mind kept drifting off to more exotic forms of gymnastics. For the rest of workout I was acutely conscious of her attention.

  She disappeared just before the end of training. I showered, dressed, and headed up the stairs. She was waiting at the top of the staircase, leaning seductively against the banister. I don’t even remember walking up the final flight of stairs.

  “Hi, Dan Millman. I’m Valerie. You look much better than when I cared for you in the hospital.”

  “I am much better, Nurse Valerie.” I grinned. “And I’m so glad you cared.” She laughed and stretched invitingly.

  “Dan, would you walk me home? It’s getting dark out, and a strange man has been following me.”

  I was about to point out that it was early April and the sun wouldn’t be going down for another hour, but then thought, “What the hell — a petty detail.”

  We walked, we talked, and we ended up having dinner at her apartment. She opened her bottle of “special wine for special occasions.” I merely had a sip, but it was the beginning of the end. I was sizzling, hotter than the steak on the grill. There was a moment when a little voice asked, “Are you a man or a jellyfish?” Another little voice answered, “I’m one horny jellyfish.” That night I washed out on every discipline I’d been given. I ate whatever she gave me. I started with a cup of clam chowder, then salad and steak. And for dessert, I had several helpings of Valerie.

  For the next three days I didn’t sleep very well, preoccupied with how to present my true confession to Socrates.

  Prepared for the worst, I walked into the office and told him everything. Then I held my breath. Socrates didn’t speak for a long time. Finally he said, “I notice you haven’t learned to breathe yet.” Before I could reply, he held up his hand. “Dan, I can understand how you might choose an ice-cream cone or a fling with a pretty woman over your training, but can you understand it?” He paused. “There is no praise, no blame. You now understand the compelling hungers in your belly and your loins. That is good. But consider this: I’ve asked you to do your best. Was that really your best?”

  Socrates turned his eyes on “bright”; they shined through me. “Come back in a month, but only if you’ve strictly applied the disciplines. See the young woman if you wish, but no matter what urges you may feel, reclaim your will.”

  “I’ll do it, Socrates; I swear I will! I really understand now.”

  “Neither resolutions nor understanding will ever make you strong. Resolutions have sincerity, logic has clarity; but neither has the energy you will need. Let anger strengthen your resolve. See you next month.”

  I knew that if I forgot the disciplines again, it would be the end. With new determination, I promised myself, no seductive woman, donut, or piece of roasted cow flesh is going to benumb my will again. I’ll master my impulses or die.

  Valerie called me the next day. I felt all the familiar stirrings at the sound of her voice, which had moaned in my ear not long before. “Danny, I’d love to see you tonight. Are you free? Oh, good. I get off work at seven. Shall I meet you at the gym? OK, see you then — bye.”

  I took her to Joseph’s café that night for a supreme salad surprise. I noticed that Valerie was flirting with Joseph. And with every other nice-looking male who was nearby and breathing.

  Later, we returned to her apartment. We sat and talked a while. She offered wine; I asked for juice. She touched my hair and kissed me softly, murmuring in my ear. I kissed her back with feeling. Then my inner voice came through loud and clear: Get out while you can, Bozo.

  I sat up, taking a deep breath. I stumbled through the lamest, most idiotic explanation imaginable. “Valerie, you know I find you attractive, but I’m involved in some, uh, personal disciplines that no longer allow — well... I enjoy your company and all, but... From now on, please think of me as an intimate friend, or a brother, or a loving p-p-priest.” I almost couldn’t get it out.

  She took a deep breath, smoothed out her hair, and said, “Dan, it’s really good to be with someone who isn’t interested only in sex.”

  “Well,” I said, encouraged. “I’m glad to hear you feel that way, because I know we can have other kinds of fun, and... ”

  She looked at her watch. “Oh, will you look at the time — and I have to work early tomorrow, too — so I’ll say good night, Dan. Thank you for dinner. It was lovely.”

  I called her the next day, but her phone was busy. I left a message, but she didn’t return it. I saw her a week later after practice; she was hand in hand with Scott, one of the guys on the team. They walked right by me as I came up the stairs — so close that I could smell her perfume. She nodded politely. Scott leered back and gave me a meaningful wink. I didn’t know a wink could hurt that much.

  With a desperate hunger that a raw salad repast couldn’t possibly satisfy, I found myself in front of the Charbroiler. I smelled the sizzling hamburgers, basted with special sauce. I remembered all the good times I’d had, eating burgers with lettuce and tomatoes — and friends. In a daze, I went in without thinking, walked right up to the woman behind the counter, and heard myself say, “One charbroiled with double cheese, please.”

  She gave it to me and I sat down, gazed at the burger, and took a huge bite. Suddenly I realized what I was doing — choosing between Socrates and a cheeseburger. I spit it out, threw it angrily in the trash, and walked out. It was over; I was through being a slave to random impulses.

  That night marked the beginning of a new glow of self-respect and a feeling of personal power. I knew it would get easier now.

  Small changes began to add up in my life. Ever since I was a kid, I’d suffered all kinds of minor symptoms, like a runny nose at night when the air cooled, headaches, stomach upsets, and mood swings, all of which I thought were normal and inevitable. Now they had all vanished.

  I felt a constant sense of lightness and energy that radiated around me. Maybe that accounted for the number of women flirting with me, the little kids and dogs coming up to me and wanting to play. A few of my teammates started asking for advice about personal problems. No longer a small boat in a stormy sea, I started to feel like the Rock of Gibraltar.

  I told Socrates about these experiences. He nodded. “Your energy level is rising. People, animals, and even things are attracted to energy fields. That’s how it works.”

  “House Rules?” I asked.

  “House Rules.” Then he added, “But it may be premature for self-congratulation. Keep a sense of perspective. You’ve only graduated from kindergarten.”

  School ended for the year almost without my noticing it. Exams went smoothly; the studies that had always seemed to be a major struggle for me had become a minor piece of business to get out of the w
ay. The team left for a short vacation, then returned for summer workouts. I was beginning to walk without my cane and even tried to run very slowly a few times a week. I continued pushing myself with all the discipline and endurance I could find inside. And I did my best to pay attention to eating, moving, and breathing — but my best was still not very good.

  Socrates only increased his demands. “Now that your energy is building, you can begin training in earnest.”

  I practiced breathing so slowly that it took one minute to complete each breath. When combined with intense concentration and control of specific muscle groups, this breathing exercise heated my body up like a sauna and allowed me to remain comfortable outside no matter what the temperature.

  I was excited to realize that I was developing the same power that Socrates had shown me the night we met. For the first time, I began to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could become a peaceful warrior like him. Instead of feeling left out, I now felt superior to my friends. When a friend complained of illness or other problems that I knew could be remedied by simply eating properly, I offered what advice I could.

  I took my newfound confidence with me to the station one night, feeling sure that I was about to learn some ancient and esoteric secrets of India, Tibet, or China. But as soon as I stepped through the door, Socrates handed me a scrub brush and said, “Make those toilets shine.” For weeks afterward, I did so many menial tasks around the station that I had no time for my real training. I lifted tires for an hour, then took out the trash. I swept the garage and straightened the tools. Life with Socrates was now filled with drudgery and boredom.

  At the same time, it was impossibly demanding. He’d give me five minutes to do a half-hour job, then criticize me mercilessly if it wasn’t done thoroughly. He was unfair, unreasonable, and even insulting. As I was considering my disgust with this state of affairs, Socrates stepped into the garage. “You left dirt on the bathroom floor.”