“How do you fight your demons, sage?” asked a man with a tired face, as he stopped by the house of the world famous sage Puram Bam.
Puram Bam, busy at writing something that looked like a letter, looked up.
“What makes you think I have demons to fight?” he asked.
His visitor had a strange face, a face that seemed young–yet beaten by life, fresh–yet old. It was the face of a young man who woke up one morning to discover in the mirror that he had suddenly aged overnight.
“Everyone has demons,” he said, his voice full of conviction. “If you don’t have demons to fight you are dead.”
“Or free,” said Puram Bam.
“It’s the same thing,” said the man.
“For many,” answered Puram Bam. “But not for everyone. Which one of your demons did you want to talk about?”
“The one that sucks the life out of me,” replied the man, his voice hard. “He’s been haunting me ever since I was a child.”
“Demons rarely haunt us uninvited,” said Puram Bam, moving his unfinished letter aside. “Tell me more.”
“He attacks suddenly,” said the man, his face going dark. “I can never see him coming. One minute I’m busy doing something — and the next moment he’s there and my will is gone. No one can see demons, and yet I can almost sense the presence of this one. I can feel him sneaking into my room. I’ve never caught a glimpse of him, but somehow I know what he looks like. He is a large gray limp mass that moves silently and swiftly. Gray and cold. Very cold. And when his coldness touches my forehead, I am no longer me. No one can notice a difference, for I still act the same way I always do.
“In fact, when he takes over me I get very busy. I read wonderful books, I make plans, I do things I’ve been postponing for ages, I write letters to people I have not spoken to for years, I feed my dog, I sharpen my sword. But when I do this I know that my sword is already sharp, my dog is not hungry and the people I write to would scratch their heads trying to recall my name. But I still do it. When this demon takes over me I do anything — anything except that thing I was about to do when he sneaked into my room. And I don’t know how to fight him. I don’t know how to fight the Demon of Procrastination!”
“You can’t fight a demon,” said Puram Bam, “unless you call him by his proper name. And the name you’ve just said is not the true name of this demon.”
“What is it then?” asked the man, his face brightened by sudden hope. “Tell me! Please!”
“You have to guess it yourself, if you want to have a chance against him.”
“Guess it? How? Everyone knows him by this name!”
“What do you feel when he takes over you?”
“I feel as if I’m slowly drowning in a cold swamp and have no power to struggle. All my senses work as usual, my hands are are strong as ever, but my mind goes numb. It feels like it’s being wrapped in some thick soft fabric, layer after layer, thicker and thicker. And it’s so comforting, so lulling, so calm. It feels like there is no way out, that I will drown completely, my mind wrapped in that fabric and my will gone, but somehow this doesn’t frighten me. The the worst thing is, I don’t even want to get out. When this demon takes over me, I don’t want anything.”
“But you do come back, eventually.”
“Yes. I get out of that swamp every time, but it’s becoming harder and harder. It used to take minutes. Now it takes hours. But I do come back.”
“And the first thing you do is finish whatever you were doing when the demon came?”
“Yes. Always. All of a sudden everything seems so easy. Somehow just being back makes me powerful. And that’s what I just can’t understand. People say that this demon takes us away from things we don’t want to do. That he snatches us at the moment of weakness. But I don’t believe them. Yes, he comes to me when I have to do something I don’t like. But he also comes to me when I do something I love! And I find myself just as drowning in that swamp. I don’t believe people when they say that he is not that bad, that he helps us escape. They say that he helps us escape our fears. Fear of failure, fear of success… But why in the world would I want to escape from something that makes me feel alive?”
“You are asking wrong questions,” said Puram Bam. “Ask the right one.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You do. People avoid asking a right question, when they don’t want to face the answer. But you–you want it. Tell me, do you enjoy doing things you do once he takes over?”
“Enjoy? I hate doing them! And I hate myself for being so weak, for not being able to stop. But you see… it’s not actually me who’s doing all these things. It’s almost like someone else is moving my hands, opening my mouth to speak, making my eyes to read. It’s the demon.”
“Our demons are not as powerful as we think. They cannot move our hands. Only we can.”
“But this is what it feels like. And if it’s not me moving my hand then who?”
“I knew a man once,” said Puram Bam, “who used to ask this question. He doesn’t ask it anymore. It’s another wrong question to ask. Do you know what you are escaping from?”
The man shrugged.
“You can’t escape fear, without taking it with you.”
“Doing something unpleasant? Or . . . pleasant. Pleasant, but difficult.”
“Do you still think about that difficulty, while drowning in that swamp,?”
“No! I know it’s somewhere out there, but I don’t think about it. I don’t think about anything. I simply don’t think.”
“And when you don’t think you don’t exist,” said Puram Bam. “You may think you’re escaping a difficulty. But you’re escaping life itself.”
“Life…” the men repeated after Puram Ban. “Where does one escape life?”
“Now you’ve asked the right question,” sad Puram Bam. “And this means you are ready to face the answer.”
“In death,” said the man slowly.”This demon… he is the Demon of Death himself.”
“He has many names,” said Puram Bam. “But you’ve just named the only one that matters. He comes to you when you secretly wish that you’d rather not exist than face life with its choices and their consequences. He offers you sweet escape of his swamp, where your mind will slowly drown while your body is busy doing meaningless things. But what’s a body without mind? When your mind doesn’t think, you’re dead.”
“But why…” said the man, “why do I come back then? Every time. Why?”
“You know this answer too, “said Puram Bam, smiling.
The man smiled back.
“Because I want to live,” he said, his face younger and filled with wonder.
“Yes,” said Puram Bam. “And once you fully realize what this means you won’t need to fight demons anymore. You simply won’t be inviting them.”
Archive for the ‘Unmaskd Tales’ Category
“My life is dull,” said glorious Emperor Moktut.
He had just finished listening to his Royal Advisor’s briefing and sat staring straight ahead, as if not seeing his palace, which had been said to be the most luxurious palace ever built on earth.
“Bring me a mirror,” he ordered.
The Royal Advisor rushed to fetch a mirror. He could have and even should have sent one of the servants to bring it, but he was glad to get away from the Emperor even for a few minutes. He had always known how to deal with the Emperor’s fury. But he was terrified by these new moments of unexplainable misery. The Emperor was not supposed to feel miserable. If he — the most powerful man in the world — felt this way, how common men were supposed to feel? Emperor Moktut had never shown any signs of misery — until two moons ago when he spoke to that horrible arrogant man by the name of Puram Bam.
“I am the most powerful man in the world,” said Moktut, studying his own reflection. “I should be happy. I should be far more than happy. So what is it that makes me feel so–”
He broke off.
“I need to talk to him,” he said, turning to the Royal Advisor. “Go and invite him at once.”
“Me?” asked the Royal Advisor in astonishment. He had never seen such a violation of the royal etiquette. His shock was so strong that he even dared to ask, “Your Majesty, do you mean that I should send the Guards to bring that man here?”
“Yes,” said the Emperor. “If you want to spend the rest of your life in the dungeon. But if you intend to keep your job, go tell him that I’m inviting him to live here as my guest.”
The Royal Advisor and left, his knees shaking.
“He said what?” asked Moktut three days later. “Are you sure?”
The Royal Adviser nodded, not daring to to look at the Emperor.
“Yes, your Majesty,” he muttered. “He said that he would’ve gladly accepted your invitation, but he would not do well in a company of beggars.
“Beggars?” repeated Moktut, his voice puzzled. “Go tell him that in this palace he will live among the richest men of my empire. Men who can buy anything and anyone. Men who eat from golden plates and travel in palanquins decorated with diamonds.”
This time the Royal Advisor left without asking questions.
Three days later he was back, trembling.
“He said, your Majesty,” he reported, his voice full of horror, “that these are exactly the men he means.”
Moktut sat still for a long time.
“Tell him,” he said finally, “that he should not be concerned about spending his days among those who are only attracted to material goods and are poor like beggars when it comes to matters of spirit. Tell him that in this palace he will find poets who care only about sharing their poetry, preachers who possess little more than their robes and who only want to preach, and painters who create their paintings asking for no reward. Go now.”
The Royal Advisor left, silently cursing Puram Bam and shuddering at the thought that he was about to curse the Emperor.
Another three days passed. The Royal Advisor was back. Alone.
The Emperor’s silence was more menacing than his wrath could have been.
“He said,” the Royal Advisor conveyed, wondering how in the world he ended up in a position of a message boy, “that these poets, preachers and painters are also the people he was referring to. He also wanted wanted to remind you that a beggar is someone who throws himself at the mercy of others and pleads for something they have while offering nothing in return.”
“The hell with him!” replied Monkut, gravely. “He has pushed my good will too far.”
The Royal Advisor felt relieved. The Emperor was coming to his senses, at last.
“It is almost time for the Summer Royal Celebration,” he dared to remind the Emperor. “I’ll see to it that we have the most majestic celebration in years. This celebration will make the people of this empire feel proud, while making other nations envy your splendor. The attention of the entire world–”
The Emperor’s palm flew up, making the Royal Advisor stop in the middle of a sentence.
“Attention,” whispered Moktut.
“Yes,” happily went on the Royal Advisor, “attention of the entire world! We will–”
But another irritated gesture of the Emperor made him stop again.
Moktut’s eyes were looking far beyond the vast hall. He didn’t see the flabbergasted face of his Royal Advisor. He didn’t see scared faces of his courtiers. He didn’t see indifferent faces of his servants. He saw something else.
He saw the richest men of his country spending millions on luxury they neither needed nor appreciated. These millions were spent with the only goal — to impress others, rich and poor, men and women, old and young. To make them gasp in envy. He saw poorest men of his empire doing the same — depriving themselves of something they needed so they could buy something to boast about in front of their neighbours. He saw poets frantically writing their poems, hoping that one day everyone will know their name — the name, not their works. He saw himself, sitting on his throne, bored by people’s admiration — and still wanting it with all his heart. He saw people going around asking, pleading, begging for attention — and accepting it as alms, not caring if they had any value to offer in exchange. He saw beggars begging beggars — and making that begging the ultimate motive of their life.
“Should I get the preparations started?” asked the Royal Advisor. The Emperor nodded, indifferently.
“Go,” he said. “Make them gasp. Oh, and take that mirror away. You’ll bring it back one day.”
“On the day,” he finished in his head, “when it won’t show me the eyes of a beggar.”
“You are a hard man to find,” said a young woman, as she stopped by the bungalow of the world famous sage Puram Bam. “Everyone knows who you are, but only few know where to find you.”
One glorious morning, glorious Emperor Moktut sat in his favorite Ruby Room and listened to the daily briefing of his Royal Advisor. Everything was fine and splendid in the Empire, while its neighbors struggled with chaos and poverty.
A man stopped by the house of the world famous sage Puram Bam. Nobody answered his confident knock, so he opened the door and found the sage looking thoughtfully at two masks he held in his hands.
“I didn’t come for help, sage” the man said. “I’m not one of those who need you to tell them how to live their life. But I came to ask you a question.”
Puram Bam said nothing. He only set the masks on the small table in front of him. One mask was sad. Another one was smiling.
“You and others like you preach people to go after their dreams,” said the man. “I say it’s rubbish. Dreams are like smoke. They are not real. Blow at them — and they are gone. But they don’t let you see the real world, where you have to work to pay for your food and your home. You know that. So my question to you is, why do you keep telling people that nonsense?”
Puram Bam rocked in his chair.
“Are you sure dreams are unreal?” he asked. “You are in my dream now.”
The man laughed loudly.
“Spare me this nonsense, old man,” he said. “Leave that I-dream-the-world talk to the weak souls who are afraid of the real world. I don’t care for it.”
“And yet you’re living it,” said Puram Bam. “You call this a house, but for many years it had existed only in my mind. I dreamt of having a bungalow like this, with these white walls, and this fireplace, and these books, and even these two masks. I dreamt of becoming someone to whom some people would come for advice, while many would come to laugh at my words. It was only my dream, but over the years I made it a part of the real world. Yet it is still my dream and you’re standing in the middle of it.”
“Fine,” said the man. His voice was quieter now. “I see your point. But you knew what you wanted. Those who come to you don’t. That’s why they come. Why confuse them?”
“Do you know what you want?” asked Puram Bam.
“I want to have a good life,” said the man.”I have seventy, maybe eighty years in this world and I don’t want to spend them chasing after some nonsense. I work ten hours a day, but my job pays well. It gives me enough money to buy what I need, to live where I want and to entertain myself when I rest. I’m not an artist or a philosopher and I don’t have big ambitions. I only want to make enough to have a decent living. So why would I ever sweat myself making some dream come true, when my job gives me all I need?”
Puram Bam looked at two masks in front of him, as if choosing which one to put on his face.
“You’ve been sweating yourself to make a dream come true all your life,” he said.
“Rubbish!” said the man. “I’ve just told you–”
“Listen or leave.”
The man went silent.
“You’ve been sweating yourself to make a dream come true all your life,” Puram Bam repeated. “Not one dream. Many dreams. Just like all of us. Every part of the world you live in was someone’s dream once. The streets you walk, the books you read, the bread you buy, the laws you obey, the money you spend, even the words you speak — all of this had been born in someone’s mind before it was made real. The place where you work ten hours a day didn’t exist before someone’s mind created it. The world of people is nothing but dreams that came true. Some of these dreams are horrible, they are dreams of blood and pain, but they too, are someone’s dreams made real. So the answer to your question is simple. You spend your life making some dreams come true. You may as well choose your own dream.”
“But I don’t have a dream,” said the man. His voice was very quiet now.
“Everyone has a dream,” said Puram Bam. “Only most people forget it when they grow up.”
He stood up, walked to the fireplace and hung the masks on each side of it.
One mask was smiling. Another one was sad.
Tags: change, life, tale, tales, unmaskd
A man came to see the world famous sage Puram Bam. He found the sage in his small bungalow, reading a thick black book.
“Oh wise sage,” he said. “I need your help!”
“Do you?” asked Puram Bam, his eyes on the thick black book.
“I don’t know how to live my life anymore!” said the man. “I know that I’m capable of great things and yet everything I’ve ever accomplished has been mediocre at best! I dream of glory, but my existence is dull. I set out to achieve brilliant things, but I settle too soon. I’m always busy, yet so little gets done. I get richer, but feel poorer. My face smiles, but my soul cries. I’m suffocating! I feel that I’m not living the life I was created to live.”
“Do you?” asked Puram Bam, his eyes still on the thick black book.
“I need your advice,” said the man. “How should I live my life without feeling that I’m wasting my years? You’re so wise. Please help me!”
Puram Bam looked up.
“You’re a smart man,” he said. “You already know the answer. People don’t change.”
And he returned to reading his thick book.
The man’s face became red like a ripe tomato. He stood up.
“I see,” he said. “Thank you for sharing your wisdom, sage.”
And then he left. Now his face was white as stone. And there was cold fire in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
One day the same man appeared at Puram Bam’s door again. He looked at Puram Bam who was reading a thin white book. He smiled.
“I came to thank you,” he said.
“Did you?” said Puram Bam, his eyes on the thin white book.
“You probably don’t remember me, but years ago you said I would never accomplish anything. I’ve proved you wrong.”
“Have you?” asked Puram Bam, his eyes still on the thin white book.
“Yes,” said the man. “Yes, I have. When I left your house I was angry. Angry at you, angry at myself, angry at the entire world. But soon I realized that anger would not get me far. I wanted to show you and myself that I could change. And so I stopped doing what didn’t matter, and I let go things that meant nothing to my soul, and I started to work harder than I had ever worked in my life. And every time I was about to give up or settle for a mediocre result or let go my dreams, I heard your words ringing in my ears. People Don’t Change. But they do! I’m living proof of that. I have accomplished great things, I do what I love and I no longer feel that I’m wasting my time. Now I’m living the life I’ve always felt I was created for. I’m living every moment of it and this is the best feeling in the world! And I feel like I’m just getting started. So I came here to thank you and tell you that you were wrong about me.”
“Was I?” asked Puram Bam.
He looked up from his book and said, “Squash a caterpillar — and it will never become a butterfly. Yet it is born to be one. People don’t change.”
And he went back to reading his thin white book.