THE MIRACLE WORKER
Dear Homo Sapiens of Earth:
Legend
has it that in the snows of Kilimanjaro, the carcass of a plains leopard was
found. No one knew what it had gone up
there to seek. But when one of your
number, Anthony by name joined the climb of Mt. Kilimanjaro five days ago, he
knew, for he was there to seek the very same thing, which the leopard evidently
succeeded in finding.
Days
before he boarded my one-way flight two weeks ago from Vancouver to Dar Es
Salaam, he had gracelessly quit his job, and ruthlessly gave away the physical
remnants of his life – his real estate holdings, his car, his money, his
credit, even his beloved horse. He had
not bid farewell to a single soul, although he’d come prepared to never return.
At
pain of extra weight, he carried a hand gun, which he kept in the bottom of his
pack - not that there was much to shoot up on the altitudes, nor to fear, but
the gun itself. In five daily segments,
the group had made the snow line, where he detached himself without a backwards
glance. Another half-day’s solitary
ascent brought him further up to this ice-cave in which he is now writing this
entry. What he is writing about is the
religious experience from which he had just emerged, as the miracle worker that
he had just become.
Not
an hour ago, as the sun was declining in the western sky, transforming the cave
into a glowing, rosy tomb, he was sitting exactly here, but doing something
altogether different - pointing the gun at the temple of the temple of his
soul.
Failing
to pull the trigger after some eons-long minutes, he had set the deadline for
the fatal moment, that by the time the sun had disappeared beneath the western
horizon, either he would have died, or face the prospect of descending the
mountain as what he would consider a terminal coward. He would slink back to the meaningless existence he had climbed
up here to escape, but thereafter it would be just his body undergoing the
physical motions of survival, for his soul would have since its final sunset on
Earth irretrievably departed.
It
was when the great red solar orb seemed having just soft-landed on the hazy
Serengeti plains far to the west, and his gun hand had starting trembling from
the cold and his trigger finger had become numb from the strain, that I finally
addressed him for the first time.
“Forgive me for intruding at this last
moment of your privacy. I will make it brief, if you will allow me.”
To the best of his
recollection it was not exactly a voice that had spoken, but rather more like
an idea that seemed beamed from the starry sky into the small space confined by
his yet intact skull.
For
at least a hundred of his remaining heartbeats he did not respond, and I said
to him, “I’m seeking a miracle worker, to work a miracle upon this
Earth, for her sake and on my behalf.
Since you seem to have no more need for this amazing instrument of
yours, which obviously is in excellent working condition, will you donate it to
me such that the purpose of this my sojourn on Earth be fulfilled?”
This
notion is clearly so alien to him that he could hardly claim it as his
own. So the first question that leapt
to his mind was, “Who are you?”
“I
am Raminothna, the Fortunate and Called Upon, at your service.”
To him,
“Raminothna” was not exactly spelled out either, nor was sound involved. It, too, was an idea, though one he did not
at once grasp. Somehow, it struck him
to be a name that had retrogressed from the future.
“Say
again? Who are you?” He just wanted to “hear” my “voice”
again.
“I am Raminothna, the Fortunate and Called
Upon, at your service.”
“That’s just a name. What
are you, then?”
“What am
I? Once you have answer this same
question for yourself, you’ll know what I am.”
“Look, I’m in no mood, nor do I have the
time, for a philosophical discussion right now.”
“If not now, when?”
“Maybe
later. Maybe never. Who cares?”
“I do.”
“Alright, fine. Let’s get this over and done with. What do you want?”
“As I said, I’m
seeking a miracle worker, to work a miracle upon this Earth, for her sake and
on my behalf.”
“So, we’re back from the universal
philosophical question to the joke, are we?”
“It is no joke.”
“For me to perform a miracle? I can’t even if I want to.”
“Is this a yes?”
“No.”
“Is it a no then?”
“No.
Yes. I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean: Look at me, for Christ’s
sake. I can’t even pull a trigger. Do I look like a miracle worker to you?”
“What does a miracle worker look like?”
“The last one I know looked like Jesus
Christ.”
“And what does Jesus Christ look like?”
The classical painting “The Last Supper” materialized in my mind.
“What are these creatures?”
“What creatures?”
“The thirteen creatures depicted in this painting.”
“They are human beings, for God’s sake!”
“Which among these human beings is Jesus
Christ?”
“The one in the middle.”
“I can’t tell him apart from the others, cosmically speaking. He looks as human as the rest. As human as you. So, on this Earth, a miracle worker should look like you.”
“Look.
I’m no miracle worker. Can’t you
just accept that?”
“Define ‘miracle’.”
“No!
It’s you who want to talk. You
define it!”
“Very well. Let’s say: A miracle is an impossible physical feat with a profound spiritual significance.”
“So you’re saying I can perform not only an
impossible physical feat, but one with a profound spiritual significance?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m glad we finally got this point
straightened out. So now I can say,
definitively, no ifs and buts, and for the last time, I can not.”
“If I prove to you that you can, will you?”
“What kind of proof?”
“Let me give you a
basic one. I tell you that you can
raise ten gallons of water from the plain 18,000 feet below up to here, in
liquid form from beginning to end, all in the matter of five days, without
artificial aid of any kind.”
“Ten gallons of water? Without artificial aid of any kind? No buckets, no hoses, no boilers, no condensers . . .?”
“None, except the clothes you are now wearing, and the boots on your feet.”
“Impossible, even with buckets.”
“Thus, according to
our definition, miraculous, considering its profound spiritual significance.”
“What spiritual significance?”
“First and foremost, that you are a miracle worker.”
“Circular reasoning.”
“Indeed. With no beginning and no end.”
“I can’t produce this proof for you, I’m
sorry.”
“You already have.”
“I what?”
“You have already raised the water.”
“What water?”
“The water you’ve already raised up, of course.”
“All ten gallons of it, I suppose.”
“And all in liquid form, as stipulated, minus your sweat, I have to admit.”
“And where is this water I have raised up
without artificial aid of any kind?”
“Right where you are.”
He cast a glance around. “I see lots of ice, but it’s been here for
eons, and certainly not due to me.
Besides, it is in solid form.
Liquid water? There is not a
drop in sight, except the couple of pints still in my flask, and the flask is
an artificial aid.”
“It’s here.”
“Well then, you’ll just have to show it to
me.”
“Before I do, you must promise me one thing.”
“O Lord!
What now?”
“The power of miracle
is never to be abused.”
“Sure, no problem. If I do have this power, I will never abuse
it. Alright?”
“Nor to be neglected.”
“Nor will I neglect it.”
“Then, look inward,
inside your skin, where you will find, flowing through your arteries and veins,
and tissues and organs including your heart and your brain, ten gallons of
warm, living water. You can baptize the
world’s lost souls with it, and quench the world’s thirst for understanding with
it. Even, you can fertilize the deserts
of humanity with it, extinguish the fires in your nuclear weapons with it, and
dissolve in it the despair of humankind.
With this sacred water, you can change your world, even save your
Earth.”
Without his knowing,
as the moonlight filtered through the ice onto his gun, he saw that it had
settled itself into his lap.
“Level
with me, Raminothna. Why are you here?”
“You really want to
know?”
“Try
me.”
“Very well. First and foremost, I am here to deliver to
you a cosmic warning.”
“What
kind of warning?”
“Dear Homo Sapiens of Earth, whose foot prints now roam the craters of the moon, beware. Beware of the Seven Cosmic Signs… (see Prologue)… In short, three words: “Greeting”, “Welcome” and “Help!” And I, for one, hear them with joy and compassion. For the first, I salute you; for the second, I come to you, and for the third, I devote my best to you.”
He
was speechless.
“Henceforth, I shall
see through your eyes, hear through your ears, feel through your heart, think
through your brain, and work through your hands, until your greater miracle is
accomplished. May the Tao be with you, Homo Sapiens of Earth.”
I am Raminothna
the Fortunate and the Called Upon
at your service