The Yogi

And thus here I am, sitting alone in my tiny room, which is my only solace, which I took, because it was affordable and it is quite close to city, I can take a bus, instead of  a train. Bus usually goes slow and can I enjoy vitnessing change from the block to the city, with it`s skyscrapers and licking clean streets, brushed by busy bankers and businessmen clean, leving all the dirt on their shoe soles. They run this world, or so they think, because the earth, the world so called, turns on it`s own manner, turns so fast, that if it ever stopped, everything would just fly off the surface of it. I remember, some writer, wrote of it and I found allusion to the book, but never the book itself or the writer`s name. Thus, the idea was so real and so amazing, that it blew my childish mind away. The idea has never left me, even now in my age, my fourties, when I`m already tired of everything, because I have seen it all.
  Somebody actually chewed me and transported into this new world, I think sometimes.
  I lived in solitude for decades, for some unknown to myself reason. I`m not religious, never have been. Never looked for anybody, never thought about that. All I was busy this time about - was thinking. I was looking for treasure, long forgotten in this world I have been spat out to, I was looking for myself. For my true self, not the one somebody has moulded into by chewing one through and through until one get`s spat out and there one goes one`s way, all finely tuned to play his note in the orchestra. The way they all, the society, or the world`s orchestra, as it would be rigtheous to say, want`s one to play. And thus in the end that someone, becomes nobody, just like that yogi, story of whom I`ve heard in the pub earlier tonight.
  The story followed something like this.
  There was once a yogi, who`s parents have abandoned him, at the early age, leaving him to the rural village`s yogi, who lived in solitude in the jungle in peace with the nature and have been rarely visited by the locals. Thus the yogi lived since the early childhood, as a pupil of the old master, cleansed his body with silk and mind with meditation day after day, twice - on dawn and dusk, following his old teacher and father to whom he got close.
  He was thoughtful and cracked the teachings early in his age. By the age of teen years the yogi already used to amaze the people in nearby village with his tricks, like standing on a single toe for hours while meditating. Not long it took before the villigers started to bring him small presents, of which his old teacher has never been really fond, but never forbade the yogi to enjoy it.
  And so the days come, came the day the yogi`s teacher and father died. The old man lived long and has accumulated great wisdom throughout his life, yet never revealing his greatest seecrets to his pupil. Yogi mourned for him a week and then finally said goodbye by burning him in the river nearby. The whole village came to the funeral celebration. People brought thousands of various flowers, which filled the river with their blossom as old man descended in fire.
  The days passed, yogi was staying in the old man`s hut in the jungle, but it was not the same. There was a burden on his mind and a worm in his gut, which he could neither clean, nor meditate away, and it grew by days. Until the yogi couldn`t sleep at nights anymore, he followed the sun coming up and going down, then greeted the moon and watch the stars slowly appearing in the sky as the last sunrays were fading away. The stars travelled the sky as yogi was looking at them, and he was wondering what they hold and how far they travel.
  One day, wary of his loneliness, he left the hut, left the village and followed the path to the great city, of which he had heard the villigers talking about as the place where all wise man from far and wide would reside. The path was long and led through many small villages, every one of which yogi would visit and leave an impression on with his tricks. Soon the word spread faster than the yogi was following and he was waited in the villages on his path, presenting him with many goods of which he almost always refused, but never really too away from.
  Few years has passed until he reached the city. Yogi entered it with flower blossoms following his path all the way to the upper gate, which he didn`t pass. Some wary and strange feeling got inside of him as he was reaching the gate; he was looking all around when passing the lower city streets and all he saw was people, some of whom didn`t even notice him, not like in those villages, where he was waited for, he looked back and saw flower blossoms following his path being trampled in the city street`s mud until they become one with it. By the time he reached the upper gate, city already had yogi in its claws.
  Months and years passed and yogi was there in the street near the upper gate, begging for bread, his skin so close to the bones, one could do the count of them. Sometimes at night he was looking to the stars, following them with a great longing in his weary mind. Long time has passed, since he greated the dawn cleansing his body with silk and mind with meditation. His only relieve was those twinkles in the night sky, which never stopped being there for him. There is something my teacher hasn`t tought me, he thought, maybe he even didn`t know, living there alone in his jungle, about all this greatness, of the cities like this, where one is a dust, no matter how big one is. Where is his body, his temple now, what is his great wisdom against all of this greatness, he thought laying on a stash of hay thereby near the great gate on the street.
  And thus one day, a man approached him and as he passed a piece of bread to the yogi, taking latter for a beggar, his face lit, thus he found the great yogi of whom the legends has passed throughout the villages throuth the whole country. Man has greated the yogi, with his highest respect, to which the yogi just shrugged and fled away leaving the bread and the man standing there amazed. Yogi ran blind through the streets until went out of the breath, his weakened body gave up and he fell down on the spot.
  It was a late night when yogi came back to his senses. For a few moments he was laying there looking at the starry sky. The stars, they never stop, he thought and thus decided to follow them.
  Once again the yogi went on the road, leaving the city behind, following the stars. He slep and meditated at the daytime and only was on his journey on the night time. Many countries and many cities he visited on his path, never stopping in one place for more than a day. Until he reached the city by the shore of the great desert, which was spreading as far and wide as few countries, and only dedicated caravans or pilgrims would attempt to pass it. The gates of the city was the greatest the yogi has ever seen, the city was of riches nobody has ever dreamt of. When the yogi passed through the gate, he was blinded by the greatness of this miraculous city. On all the corners he saw yogis levitating in the air and braking all of the know rules. He found of teachings, which for a moment enlightened his weary mind, he learned of unhear things. Somebody even tried to explain stars to him. Thus all of them reminded him that he is a temple himself and a star in the sky with all his greatness, he just needs to reveal it. His head had spun round from all that greatness he met.
  Yogi stayed in that miraculous city for years. He cleansed his body and mind; he even managed the levitation. He didn`t belong to earth no more; I can leave it, I can seek the stars, he thought. And as the word about him spread round the city, a few at first and later many more pupils joined the yogi. Thus he became a great master and teacher, living on a grain of rice and a drop of water over four moons, never touching the gound wiht his feet or the stars with his head, on that matter.
  How come you never stand on the ground, master, is not that you teach that it is the earrth is the mother of all living? - Once one of his younger pupils asked the yogi.
  The yogi kept silent for days lost in meditation upon hearing the question. Once again he remebered his teacher, the harmony the latter lived in with the earth, the peace of his mind and how deep his meditations were, how he stayed away from all living human and their habitats. Once again the same weary feeling fell upon him. He looked up to the sky. The stars still were there, following their neverending path. Yogi put his foot on the ground, swinged to the sides for a few steps and left without saying a word to his pupils and followers.
  Leaving the city he turned straight to the great desert. He walked many days, follwing the stars, blinded by the endless sea of sand, weary of the feeling which now overtook all his body and mind. Finally, his last strengh gave up, he fell on his knees, looked upon the sky. Sun burned his face and hid the stars away. He was longing for them, wanted to see them once more, but he couldn`t. He scooped a handfull of the dsert sand and threw it up in the air, following with his wary eyes the sand snow turning into his so favorited stars, there in the sunlight. And thus for a moment in his life he was close to them - the so longed stars. Few moments later he fell down on the sand, grasping for that last thought in his fading mind, that the star in the sky is just as big as that sand of grain in the sunlight, and stayed there forever, without finding the source of that weary feeling, driving him.
  I don`t even look for the moral in it, because there is none. Morals doen`s apply in this world, it`s all about good story and those unreacheble stars, isn`t it?