The Last Free Man

In the end he was in an enclosure being observed like before, but he had won space, glorious space in which he could walk, grow a few plants, sleep, defecate and most importantly look up with no obstruction.

The Observers above would come and go and he paid them no attention.

They, or the ones before, had tried to break him in ways that surely would have killed anyone else. And then day by day reduced the methods of torture, both physical, mental and emotional. Their study began and the endless needles, probes and inspections of his physical body and his mind. These stopped and he was released to a courtyard which expanded in size day by day, week by week and then did not.

He was still in that courtyard. Being observed and studied perhaps.

He guessed all that had happened was over many years. His body was old and not just from the abuse.

Birds would fly in the courtyard and bring him things he could use—sticks, leaves, seeds. It would rain, sometimes for days. He had one tarp for cover and handmade instruments for cooking. He had devised t ways of making fire.

Only one had visited him in the courtyard.

He had come in and stood and then had sat and watched him. He had been dressed in very fine clothes and jewels. When he had glanced up at the Observers above, they had all ducked and disappeared.

He had made soup for the man and had given it to him in a bowl with a handle. The man drank it. He had sung to him and made a fire for them to sit close to as it got dark. The man had appeared to fall asleep but suddenly arose and went to a doorway in the side of the courtyard that opened magically as he came close to it and then closed after him.

The next day that door was open. He checked it while he did his chores, fed himself, worked in the garden and worked on making a basket from the gifts from the birds.

It remained open.

He slept.

The next day the door was still open. No Observers appeared above him.

The next day- the same.

The next morning, he bundled up supplies, a water jug, some dried vegetables, a device he built to carry things on his back.

He walked through the door. He looked back at his courtyard and felt a sadness.

He looked ahead and saw many working, not noticing him as he went though gates which others opened for him as soon as he approached.

He wondered while he walked what they had learned- the Observers, the torturers, the inspectors. The jeweled man.

He was, he knew, more himself now than ever, ever unable to be dissected or divided. He was the bird or a rain drop or nothing.

At the last gate, a man leaned on the weights and the heavy arm lifted. The gateman looked at him.

“What is your secret?” he asked.

The man thought, waited, and then went through the passageway.

He then stopped and turned.

“I dream that I am free and I live in my dream.”

He walked away, to where there were no more gates.

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