I experienced such a distortion of time that I was unable afterward to know how long it had lasted. The contact was broken by a waiter who brought the bill and struck up a conversation. After I took the time to reply, to look for my money, to pay, to get the change … she was no longer there. She had disappeared as she had appeared. I felt it was futile to look for her, to rush outside, to ask the people present. Finding her again, making contact, talking to her, all that would just have brought back to a terrestrial level what we had experienced on a more spiritual level. And then, nothing can be added to perfection without spoiling it, drawing away from it, and finally losing it. And, besides, perfection cannot be the basis for a relationship. Nothing can be built on it. Life is anything but perfection.
I remained a little while in Yogi’s before remembering my task. I went out and spent the following hour going up to various people to make different types of requests, getting ever more outrageous. And yet, never did I manage to get an outright, massive no. Either people partially met my request or they tried to find an indirect way of nonetheless satisfying the need I expressed. I felt that I was going to end the day disappointed, though I had really intended to succeed with my task … Fortunately, at the corner of the street, I suddenly saw the person who was going to save my honor and keep me from going home empty-handed.
“Hans! Hans!” I called from a way off. “Hans, could you lend me some money?”
14
I WENT BACK to the bungalow savoring this easy victory. It was the first time in my life that I was filled with pleasure at seeing a face in the act of closing up, seeing the eyes freeze, the brow knit into a deep line above the nose, the lips tighten.
It had seemed that the scene was taking place in slow motion—extreme slow motion—allowing me to enjoy each thousandth of a second, image by image, and I remember each one of them as though it were yesterday: I can see his mouth open again and, at the precise instant that the tongue left the palate, his breathing had given off a sharp noise that had cracked in the air like a whip, forming the magic word of rejection, the word I had desperately sought to collect all afternoon. I could have filmed the scene to play it back in a loop.
I had almost lifted my arms and looked up to the sky as I fell on my knees, like tennis champions who have just won match point in the final of a grand-slam contest. I could have thrown my arms around his neck and kissed him with gratitude. I made do with smiling and looking at him in silence, awaiting the pleasure of seeing him justify his position with a phony excuse or two-bit moral. When I said it was a joke, he had laughed, with the forced laugh of someone who is relieved but has kept the contraction brought on by the initial request.
Borne along by my victory, I had scored a second point while I was at it by phoning the travel agency in Kuta, where I was clearly told no, it wasn’t possible to change my plane ticket without paying a penalty of $600. I had never received such bad news in such a good mood.
In the enthusiasm of the moment, I had managed to contact my former principal. I hadn’t worked out the time difference and had the impression I was getting him out of bed. His voice was sleepy, with the hint of anxiety you have when the phone rings in the middle of the night and you wonder what terrible news can justify being dragged out of sleep at such an hour. I talked to him enthusiastically about my plan, without paying attention to the contrast between my excitement and his sleepiness. He listened to me, and when I asked him if he would consent to give me a little of his time to teach me different aspects of his know-how, he agreed, no doubt relieved that I wasn’t calling to announce the death of his grandmother or the explosion of his school in a terrorist attack.
In the end, two out of five seemed an honorable score for a beginner, and I went back to my beach confident and calm, and spent the evening on my second task: imagining myself in the shoes of a photographer and listening to my feelings in this new professional identity.
My nocturnal swim was a delicious time of letting go, of relaxation and happiness after the harassing but victorious day.
15
“SO, WAS IT as easy as you imagined to get those no’s?”
“Well, no, I have to admit it wasn’t.”
He smiled as he sat down on the mat in the lotus position. I looked at him, happy to be opposite him again. I liked his serene, imperturbable face—the face of someone who expects nothing more from life, who covets nothing, has no particular desires. Someone who is happy just to be and who offers that state to others as a model to be followed if they wish.
“People who are afraid of being rejected,” he went on, “have no idea that it is rare to be turned down by others. It’s difficult to bring about. On the whole, people are inclined to help you, not to disappoint you, to go along with what you expect from them. It’s precisely when you are afraid of being rejected that, in the end, you are—according to the belief mechanism that you have learned to know now.”
“It’s true.”
“When you learn to go toward others to ask them for what you need, a whole world offers itself to you. Life is about opening up to others, not closing up on oneself. Anything that allows you to connect to others is positive.”
I thought back to my connection with Hans the day before. After all, it had been a good moment, and in the end, I had recognized that he was more to be pitied than despised.
“I think you’re right.”
“So did you manage to imagine yourself in the shoes of the person you are thinking of becoming?”
“Well, as it happens, I wanted to talk to you about that. I’ve got a problem.”
“It’s good to have become aware of it before launching into the plan.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
“What’s your problem?”
“When I imagine myself in the shoes of a photographer, that’s to say, an artist, I don’t feel completely at ease with the idea.”
“What bothers you exactly?” he asked in a way that invited me to confide in him.
“Well, I’m from … how should I say … a family that values only the intellectual professions. My parents pushed me to go into higher education. I would even say that I didn’t have a choice. In my family, you are respected if you are a scientist or a teacher—that’s about all. Other forms of employment are not thought of as worthy. So, a photographer—”
“They are entitled to their opinions, and you are entitled to do what you want with your life.”
“Of course, and it’s obvious that at my age I don’t owe them an explanation, but it would come as such a shock! I’m worried they’d be upset.”
“Are they upset, today, to know that you are not happy in your job? Have they been a comfort to you?”
“No, not really.”
“If they love you, which do you think they prefer: that you’re an unhappy teacher or a happy photographer?”
“Looking at it that way—”
“That’s how you must look at it: if we love people only when they behave in conformity with our ideals, it’s not love. I think you have nothing to fear from those who love you. Even in a loving family, everyone must live his own life. It’s good to consider the effects of what we do on others so as not to hurt them. On the other hand, you can’t always take their wishes into account, and even less the way they’re going to judge your actions. Each one of us is responsible for judging himself. You’re not responsible for other people’s opinions.”
He was no doubt right, but something was still bothering me. “In fact, I wonder to what extent my family might have ‘contaminated’ me: even if I am enthusiastic about this plan, I’m not completely relaxed about the idea of leaving the intellectual camp to join the artistic one!”
“I think it’s inappropriate to think in terms of camps, even more of belonging to a camp. For you, it’s not a question of leaving one camp to join another, but just of carrying out a plan that is dear to you.”
I remained pensive, definitely affected by his words, but I think he felt the sit
uation still left me with a mental block.
“Come with me,” he said, slowly getting up.
From the way he moved, for the first time, I became aware of his great age, an impression that disappeared when he spoke, because he used words with such precision and calm.
I got up and followed him. He went around the different buildings that made up the campan, then took a path that wound through vegetation so dense that you couldn’t make out the outlines of the garden. We walked for several minutes in silence, one behind the other, then the path widened and I walked beside him. Minute plots had been placed here and there, and were carefully cultivated, probably with medicinal plants; some of them had microscopic yellow or blue flowers. After crossing a thicket of giant, bushy bamboos with a green smell, plunging us into semidarkness and enveloping us in damp humidity, the path suddenly came out on a ledge with a breathtaking drop down to the valley. I had known the village was perched high up, but I never imagined that the end of Master Samtyang’s garden so dominated the valley that stretched for miles, 200 or 300 yards below. This plunging, aerial view—it was as though we were suspended over a void—contrasted strongly with the rest of the garden, where the density of the vegetation prevented a clear view. We sat down side by side on a rock, our feet swinging in the void, and stayed silent for several minutes, contemplating the grandiose landscape, which made me feel very small. It was the healer who in the end broke the silence with his calm, kindly voice.
“What can you see in the rice fields?”
Far off, down below, were dozens of workers standing in water up to their calves, their backs bent and their hands reaching toward the rice plants.
“I see a series of workers active in the fields.”
“No, not a series of workers.”
“A group of workers, if you prefer.”
“No, not a group, not a series.”
Right, now he’s playing on words, I thought.
“Do you know,” he went on, “how many humans there are on Earth?”
“Between six and seven billion.”
“And do you know how many genes make up each human being?”
“I don’t know … a few thousand?”
“Slightly more than twenty thousand. And out of the roughly six billion humans, there are not two who have the same genes!”
“Yes, each of us is unique.”
“Exactly! And even if some are doing the same work, in the same place, at the same moment, you can’t consider them as a group or a series, because, whatever points they have in common, there will always be more elements making them different than points in common linked to their work!”
“I understand what you mean.”
“We sometimes tend to think of things by categorizing them, considering people as though they were all the same within a category, while in fact, in that field below, there are several dozen people, each with their own identity, their own history, their specific personality, their specific tastes. More than half of them live in the village. I know them. Just from the point of view of their motivation, there are differences. One does this work because he likes the contact with the water, while his neighbor has no choice. Another does it because it brings in a little more than his former job, and a fourth to help his father. The fifth likes looking after plants and seeing them grow. The sixth is there because it is the tradition in his family, and he has never thought of doing anything else.
“When we think by groups, by series, by camps, we ignore each individual’s value and contribution, and we easily fall into oversimplification and generalization. We build theories that serve our beliefs. And not only are most of those theories false, but they push people to become what the theory says they are.”
“I understand.”
“It’s a great step in life when you stop generalizing about others and consider each person individually, even if he is part of a greater whole—humanity and, even further, the universe.”
I looked at the valley in the distance, which stretched for miles. Opposite us, on the other side of the void, was another hill, almost a mountain, which rose nearly as high as ours, separated by several hundred yards, forming a sort of immense canyon at the bottom of which the valley disappeared. Some clouds were lower than we were, while others were above, giving me the impression that we were floating between two worlds. A slight, persistent breeze made the heat pleasant and brought waves of fragrances, distant scents that I couldn’t identify.
“Right, let’s get back to what we were talking about,” he said. “When you carry out your plan, since that is what you want, you will not be joining a category of people. You will just be yourself, expressing your talents in agreement with your values.”
“It’s true, I must remember that.”
“Yes.”
“You know, I have already talked a bit about this plan to two people in my circle, and I have to say they put me off a bit.”
“Why?”
“One said the profession was no doubt overcrowded and I wouldn’t manage to make a place for myself just turning up like that, without qualifications or contacts. The other objected, saying that you don’t start up that sort of business overnight without customers and that I had practically no chance of succeeding.”
“Everybody who has a plan confronts this problem.”
“Meaning?”
“When you talk about a plan with people, you get three types of reaction: the neutral ones, the encouraging ones, and the negative ones aimed at making you give up.”
“That’s clear …?”
“You absolutely must steer clear of people who you feel might discourage you. At least don’t tell them about your plans.”
“Yes, but in a certain way, it can be useful to have people open your eyes if you’re going wrong.”
“For that, talk only to specialists in the area that interests you. You mustn’t confide in the people who will try to discourage you just to satisfy their own psychological needs. For example, there are people who feel better when you are down and will therefore do anything to stop you from feeling better! Or others who would hate to see you fulfill your dreams because it reminds them of their lack of courage to fulfill theirs. There are also people who feel their standing is enhanced by your difficulties because it gives them the opportunity to help you. In that case, the plans that come from you cut the ground from under their feet, and they will do what they can to dissuade you. There’s no point to being annoyed with them, because they do it unconsciously. But it’s better not to tell them your plans. They will make you lose confidence in yourself. Do you remember we talked yesterday about the baby who is learning to walk and never loses heart, despite his repeated failures?”
“Yes.”
“If he succeeds in the end, it’s above all because no parent in the world doubts his baby’s ability to walk, and no one in the world is going to discourage him in his attempts. Whereas, when he is an adult, countless people will try to dissuade him from fulfilling his dreams.”
“That’s for sure.”
“That’s why it’s better to keep away from those people or not talk to them about your plans. Otherwise, you’ll join the millions of people who don’t have the life they want.”
“I understand.”
“On the other hand, it’s very positive to have around you one or two people who believe in you.”
“Who believe in me?”
“When you throw yourself into a plan that represents a challenge, for example, when you long to change your job, there are inevitably ups and downs. You believe in it, you want it, and then, all of a sudden, you have doubts, you don’t believe in it anymore, you don’t feel able to do it anymore, you’re afraid of change, the unknown. If you are alone at those times, there is every chance you’ll give up, abandon ship. If there is someone near you who believes in you, who believes in your ability to make a success of your plan and makes you feel this when you see them, it will sweep away all your doubts, and your fears will disa
ppear as though by magic. The confidence shown in you by that person will be contagious. It will inspire you with the strength to succeed and will give you the energy to move mountains. You are fifteen times stronger when you’re not alone with your plan. But don’t get me wrong: that person doesn’t have to help or advise you. No, what counts above all is just that they believe in you. Moreover, you’d be surprised to know the number of famous people who have benefited from support like that at the outset.”
“I’m not sure I’ve got someone like that …”
“In that case, think of someone farther away, an older relative or a childhood friend, even if you don’t see them often. If you really can’t find someone, you can also think of someone no longer living, who loved you when they were alive. Tell yourself, I know that where they are, if they can see me carrying out my plan, they believe in me. As soon as you have doubts, imagine them encouraging you because they know you will succeed.”
“Then I’ll choose my grandmother. I’ve always seen in her eyes that she was proud of me. When I got bad grades at school, my parents scolded me, but she always said, ‘It doesn’t matter. I know you’ll get a good mark next time.’”
“That’s a good example. There are also people who believe in God and get the courage to act from him. Napoleon was convinced that he had a lucky star. At most of his battles, even when they were going badly, he remained convinced that he would win, with the help of this lucky star. It motivated him enormously and gave him a strength that was often decisive.”
The Man Who Wanted to Be Happy Page 8
