The Traveler
The Traveler
And then one day the Traveler stopped traveling. It was afternoon, and the streets were crowded with cars, the sidewalks filled with people. The Traveler stopped, looked out over the buildings, toward the mountain, and saw the clouds. They were black and pregnant with moisture, waiting to become the rain that would cleanse the streets.
People walked around him as he stood facing the mountain. Some shook their heads while others cursed under the breath. The Traveler heard them, but their comments were transitory. They didn’t see the mountain. They had forgotten the mountain was there. The Traveler watched the clouds, then slowly he sat down on the sidewalk. This caused more of a stir, and people cursed more loudly. One person almost tripped over him.
Eventually, the stream of people organically walked around him. Like a stone dropped into a shallow stream, the water quickly accommodated the obstruction and moved on. The Traveler watched the clouds release their stored bounty upon the mountain, having decided not to wait until the breeze carried them into the city.
It was approaching the end of the lunch hour, and the crowds began to return to work and home from restaurants and parks. Still, the Traveler sat on the hard concrete. He watched as the clouds, satisfied, slowly disintegrated and floated away. The Traveler smiled as he thought, the mountain had their lunch, too. Eventually, the Traveler was joined only by a handful of curious passersby. One of them was a uniformed policeman who, upon seeing the Traveler, crinkled his brow and approached him from behind. Stopping a few feet away, the policeman studied him a moment, then moved into the Traveler’s line of view.
The Traveler was an older man, at least fifty, maybe sixty. Then again, he could have been forty. His countenance told of many years of relative quiet, or a few years of difficulty. But it mattered not, thought the policeman: he was obstructing the sidewalk.
“Good day,” the policeman said.
“Every day is a good day,” said the Traveler.
The Traveler wore jeans and a shirt of indiscriminate color, the eventual color of all things, like fallen flowers and withering leaves. His shoes were scuffed and old. His hair cried out for a brush. But his eyes were kind, if a little too distant to be considered friendly.
“You realize you’re blocking traffic here on the sidewalk.”
The Traveler, still looking toward the mountain, nodded his head.
“Some people believe anything one does somehow prevents another from doing something else.”
The policeman narrowed his eyes, surprised by the answer. The policeman had worn his uniform for a long time, and like many others who had served for so many years, each day he dons his uniform believing he had heard every story, dealt with every kind of problem, and each day he is proven wrong.
“That may be true, but you sitting on the sidewalk is against the law.”
The Traveler did not nod, but rearranged his arms and cocked his head.
“Does the law say thou shalt not sit on the sidewalk?”
The policeman, surprised, thought for a moment. There were laws restricting cars from stopping on the roadway, and from parking in areas in which parking was prohibited. There were laws restricting the behavior of pedestrians when crossing the street, but after wracking his brain, the policeman could not think of a law prohibiting the Traveler from sitting on the sidewalk.
The policeman had spent most of his time in a police car responding to calls outside the city, and he never served on foot patrol. He stared at the Traveler sitting on the sidewalk and thought, surely there is a law that applies to someone just sitting in the middle of the sidewalk.
The policeman thought of his days in the academy so many years before. They studied the entire criminal code, the county and city ordinances, and as he thought about it, the Traveler continued contemplating the distant mountain.
What about loitering? Yes! he thought, loitering!
“No Sir, the law doesn’t say that. But it does say no loitering!”
The officer placed his hands on his hips, satisfied to have identified a crime, glad he found a lawful way to address this obstruction on the sidewalk. The Traveler glanced over at the officer.
“But doesn’t loitering require someone to remain in a certain place for the purpose of committing a crime, like theft? Or begging? What if I was sitting in my car in a public parking lot, just enjoying the afternoon? Would I be loitering then? What if I was looking in a store window wishing I could purchase something expensive? At what point would that constitute loitering?”
The officer considered, looked off into the distance.
“Well, what purpose do you have? You are facing away from the store windows, and you aren’t sitting in your car. You’re just staring into space.”
“Ah, yes, so I am.” The Traveler looked back toward the mountain, then he pointed.
“Do you see that mountain?”
The officer glanced over in the direction the Traveler was pointing and said, “Yes, of course. I know it well. It’s Big Mountain.”
The Traveler nodded, and said, “Is it? Some call it Black Mesa. But the Navajo call it
Dzilíjiin, and before this was the United States, when the Mexicans owned it, they called it Mesa de las Vacas.”
“OK, but what does that have to do with loitering?”
“It has everything to do with it. You said I was just staring into space. I am actually staring at Dzilíjiin and contemplating its beauty. I am considering that it’s so much more than a mound of earth and rock and coal. I was watching as clouds gathered there, huge grey rain clouds, and the mountain is so powerful, it drew the clouds to it and caused them to empty their contents over them. I decided to sit right here, front row seats, as it were, and watch the hand of God over that mountain. Is it loitering to behold the power and strength of God?”
The policeman listened, and then thought, this is no vagrant. And it’s probably not loitering. Even if it was, no judge would ever buy it.
“Well,” the officer reasoned, “it’s not safe, what if someone doesn’t see you? What if they trip and fall because they were not expecting someone to be sitting on the sidewalk?”
The Traveler nodded his head slowly.
“I suppose, then, that person would learn a valuable lesson in being blind.”
“Being blind?” the policeman repeated.
“Walking through one’s life without paying attention, without focusing on the ground upon which they intend to step. That is risky, is it not? Perhaps even careless.”
The policeman rested his hands against his gun belt and considered the Traveler’s words.
“Yes, but if you know this is the case, shouldn’t you be more concerned? Perhaps you should move and prevent someone from injuring themselves?”
“Exactly,” the Traveler replied, “they would be injuring themselves. So it’s not me, you see, that would be doing the injuring. If I were a mound of rocks and I was left here, in the middle of the sidewalk, would you be asking the mound of rocks to move to avoid someone hitting it?”
“That’s ridiculous, a mound of rocks can’t talk.”
“Would you move it?”
“A mound of rocks? Are you kidding?”
“Then what would you do?”
The policeman considered the question for a moment.
“I would call for help, then wait until help arrived.”
“Because that is the job of a policeman, to protect people.”
“Yes.”
“Well, then I am a mound of rocks.”
The policeman glared at the Traveler as he sat, staring at the mountain in the distance. He sighed, then checked his watch.
“Look, why are you really sitting here? Are you protesting something?”
“I have nothing to protest.”
“Are you waiting for someone?”
“I no longer wait for anything or anyone, and no-one should wait for me.”
“So you sit here, all alone, for no reason.”
“I am not alone, and as I already told you, I am here to watch the hand of God over that mountain. But even if I was not, does one need a reason for everything one does?”
The policeman looked toward the mountains.
“Looks to me like it stopped raining. So the hand of God is gone.”
The Traveler followed the policeman’s gaze.
“Indeed, it’s stopped raining.”
“So now you are here for no reason,” the officer concluded.
“I did not say that either.”
The officer started to feel some degree of frustration with the Traveler. He checked his watch again. He looked behind him to make sure no-one was approaching.
“Then I will ask you again, why are you really here, sitting in the middle of the sidewalk?”
The Traveler continued staring at the mountain, seemingly considering the question. The policeman, growing impatient, leaned his weight first on one foot, then another. Finally the Traveler looked at the policeman and said, slowly, “I am waiting for an answer to a question constantly asked but only answered once. I am waiting for a reply always sent and always delivered. I am waiting for a message always received but almost never wanted.”
The policeman stood and stared down at the Traveler, confused. He’s telling me a riddle? He thought about his options: he could stand here and prevent others from tripping and falling, he could force him off the sidewalk somehow, or he could just move on. For a moment he struggled. He was a policeman: his job was to serve and to protect. His job was to protect this man, and also those who may approach. His job was to serve society and cite or arrest those that broke the law.
The policeman lifted his arm to check his watch, then changed his mind. How long can I stand here and protect him? And from what am I protecting him? Himself? He turned and checked the sidewalk for anyone who might potentially be put in harm’s way. A couple approached, but they clearly saw him standing on the sidewalk and had already begun moving to one side. And for others, for how long should I stand here and protect those who may potentially come upon this man? Aren’t there other, more likely places to post myself in defense of others? Aren’t their more grave risks to which I should dedicate my time?
The Traveler looked up at the policeman. The Traveler who had decided to stop traveling smiled. “A policeman must serve and protect. But it’s not so easy, is it?”
The policeman’s mouth opened in surprise.
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
“A man’s thoughts are loud as the surf when one knows for what they should listen. You wish to serve and protect, but don’t know how to accomplish these responsibilities here and now.”
“Yes,” the policeman whispered.
“I am waiting for a message always received but almost never wanted. How long should I wait?”
The policeman considered the question.
“If it’s almost never wanted, then maybe it’s better to wait forever and not get it.”
The Traveler nodded slowly, watched the policeman as he checked his watch.
“But no-one can wait forever. One day we will die.”
Shifting his weight from one foot to another, the policeman muttered, “Then maybe just stop waiting.”
The policeman thought a moment longer.
“Didn’t you say something about a reply always sent and always delivered?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Well, why wait here if you know you will get a reply and you know it will be delivered?”
“But I cannot get a reply if I don’t know the question to ask.”
“You said you were waiting for an answer to your question.”
“No. I am waiting for an answer to a question always asked but only answered once. I did not say I was the one that asked the question. I didn’t even say I knew what the question was.”
The policeman, frustrated, checked his watch one more time.
“I think I have decided what I’m going to do. You may get hurt sitting here on the sidewalk, but you are breaking no law. Others may get hurt tripping on you, but right now there is no-one at risk and I cannot wait forever. So I will leave and hope everyone remains safe.”
“A wise answer.”
“Are you really going to stay here?”
The Traveler thought about this question for a moment.
“Yes, because I am no longer the Traveler, I am now the Observer.”
By this time the policeman had lost patience and, with a shrug, resumed his walk down the sidewalk.
The Observer
The Observer remained on the sidewalk. He glanced over at the policeman as he departed, then returned his gaze to the mountain. The clouds long gone, now the sun resumed its travels across the heavens.
The rhythmic squeak of metal on metal caused the Observer to turn and glance up the sidewalk in the opposite direction. An elderly woman was approaching, pushing a small cart laden with flowers. She was heading straight for the Observer.
The policeman left exactly one minute too soon.
It was usually that way, thought the Observer, we struggle for a lifetime seeking answers to all our questions, but in the end, we give up, and we give up right before the answers begin to flutter down from the heavens, like warm drops of rain.
The woman let go of her cart a few feet away from the Observer and wiped her brow. Her vision was challenged, and at first she did not realize the Observer was there. Patiently, the Observer waited for her to see him.
Finally, the woman squinted as she realized there was an obstruction on the sidewalk. She took a step closer, leaving her flowers behind, then identified the obstruction as human in form.
“Sir, are you ok? Do you need help?”
The Observer smiled and shook his head.
“I am not worse off than anyone else.”
The woman cocked her head, momentarily put off by his response, but then she forced another smile on her face.
“But did you fall? Why are you sitting here on the sidewalk?”
“I have fallen many times. But this is not one of those times.”
Again, she felt a quick bout of slight irritation from his answer, followed by the steadfast determination to remain optimistic.
Hands on her hips, she asked, “Do you require any assistance? Can I help you get up?”
“No, I am satisfied with my position. I require no assistance.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“I am observing.”
The woman turned, looked across the street, ignoring the mountain, then looked in the other direction, at the shops and parking lots.
“What are you observing?”
“I am observing that which God made. I am observing that which man made, and I am observing that which time made.”
The old woman, now suspicious, looked around, studying the shops again, more carefully, looking for a camera, perhaps, or a clue that his presence was part of some elaborate trick.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”
The Observer looked behind the woman, at her cart full of flowers.
“I am observing things made by man, and things made by God, and things made by time.”
“Yes, you just said that.”
“God made time, God made man, and God made the mountain. Man sees all that God made and tries to copy him. God believes he controls everything. Time laughs at God, laughs at man, and laughs at their accomplishments.”
“Time laughs? Why?”
“Futility.”
The woman stared at him, her facial muscles relaxed, confused.
“Time does not count. Man counts. Man invented the clock. Man invented seconds, minutes, hours, days, years. Time cares nothing of man’s division of itself into such pieces. Time is an endless thing.”
“OK. But why does time laugh? What is futile? What do you mean?”
“Man knows all I am saying, yet he still creates. Time creates and time destroys. Time laughs because everything man does is futile.”
“What does time create?”
The Observer looked toward the mountains.
“Time creates hills and valleys, rivers and streams.”
The woman nodded slowly, then said, “OK, that makes sense. But you said God believes He made time, yet time laughs at Him. What does that mean?”
The Observer smiled.
“God believes He made time. That would mean there was a time God existed before time. Perhaps that is theoretically true, but the moment God decided to create time, it was already there. Whenever anything happens, whether thought or deed, it requires time. So the very moment God decided to create time, time was already passing.”
The woman’s eyes unfocused and she looked away, considering his response.
“So God just didn’t realize time was already passing.”
“Providing a label does not give something life. A child is still a child before the mother decides on a name.”
The woman thought about the Observer’s words a while, then pursed her lips.
“If time is laughing at everything, and it’s all so futile, why are you sitting here on the sidewalk watching everything?”
“Spectators watch. Observers try to understand. I am the Observer.”
“The Observer.”
“Yes. I am observing that which God made. I am observing that which man made, and I am observing that which time made.”
“Right. But why bother? You just said time laughs at man and God because everything we make is so impermanent. You said our lives are basically futile.”
“Yes. Time laughs. But a laugh is, itself, a small creation. Each of us, we are one of time’s laughs, aren’t we? God’s creation, time’s laugh, no matter how you describe us, we are each a creation. And our lives are each futile. No matter how healthy we are, no matter how lucky, one day we will no longer exist. Yet we continue to grow, marry, bear children, knowing they will all die. Each lifetime, an exercise in futility.”
“So God and time are the same thing?”
The Observer frowned.
“If you prefer to use those words, then God creates things. Maybe he even creates ideas. But time creates neither.”
“Time doesn’t create?”
“Yes, it does create. It creates moments.”
The Observer waved an arm across the air before him.
“Look. Everything you see. You see things, yes? You see people? You see buildings? Mountains? If time was not involved, you would see nothing, because nothing would happen. It is a substrate without which nothing would be built, nothing would grow, nothing would stop growing. Your life and your world would be like a photograph. Nothing would exist.”
The woman looked around, up at the mountain, over at the buildings, at the cars passing them by in the street.
“So it would be like looking at a photograph.”
“No. it would be like you were a part of a photograph. You would not be able to think because in order to have a thought, an electrical impulse must travel through your body, through your brain, hitting your synapses, triggering certain chemicals. All of this takes time. A millionth of a second, perhaps, but it makes all the difference.”
“So time creates moments in which we can observe the things that God made, the things that man made. And those moments are what time made.”
The Observer smiled at her, then looked away.
“And even an omnipotent God cannot create without time. Without moments.”
The Observer, nodding to himself, faced the mountain and said, “I have traveled for a very long time, and now I am here, no longer traveling, because I wish to observe. I wish to observe that which God made. I wish to observe that which man made, and I wish to observe all the moments time still intends to provide me. I am observing all the things I never stopped to see when I was traveling.”
The woman smiled, finally understanding the Observer’s words. She nodded her head, then crept away softly, back to her cart. She stood over her flowers a moment, carefully choosing several and placing them together upon a green piece of paper. She returned to the man and presented him with a flower. As the man reached for the first flower, the woman said, “Those who know about flowers believe they each tell a story. They each carry a message.”
The woman said, “This is a white chrysanthemum. It stands for truth. I hope you find your truth.”
The Observer accepted the flower with a smile.
Next, the woman presented several daisies.
“These are daisies, of course. They convey a message of hope. Obviously, in this case they go hand in hand with the chrysanthemum.”
The man accepted the daisies, too. Next, the woman presented him with two irises. With a smile, the Observer asked, “And what does the iris represent?”
“Nothing. I just think they are beautiful.”
The Arriver
The day was getting late, and the Observer was watching the sky begin to change from deep blue to something like a melting scoop of ice cream. People were heading home from work, home from school, and most navigated around him with no more than a raised eyebrow. Some preferred to ignore him. Others reacted more strongly, and insisted on expressing their opinion about his decision to sit and obstruct their path.
A tired mother approached, holding the hand of a small boy, perhaps seven years old. The Observer watched the woman, who pointedly would not look at the Observer. The small boy, however, stared back at the Observer unabashedly. In fact, the boy focused on the Observer and nothing else as they approached. The mother led the boy to a small shop behind the Observer’s perch. The Observer heard the bell jingle as they opened the door.
After the woman and the small boy had passed, a man in a suit approached the Observer, holding a briefcase. The man was talking on his mobile phone and was headed directly for the Observer. He did not notice him until the last moment. The man stopped short, mumbled something into his mobile phone, then glared down at the Observer. All the man needed to do was sidestep around him and continue on his path. Instead, the man came to a stop directly before the Observer, his expression dark. He took the phone from his ear and glared down at him.
“Excuse me, you’re in my path.”
Without missing a moment, the Observer responded, “So it appears.”
“Are you going to move?”
“We are all moving. In fact, I am moving now. My mouth is moving, my tongue, and my eyes. So yes, I am moving.”
The man, exasperated, bounced his briefcase against his knee.
“You need to get off this sidewalk before I call the police. This is ridiculous. What are you doing?”
“I am the Arriver, and I am arriving.”
The man in the suit and the Arriver both heard the jingle of the bell behind them, and both looked to find a young boy approaching. His mother was still in the store. The man, assuming the boy belonged to the Arriver, walked away with a huff.
The boy walked over and stared at the Arriver intently, as boys do.
“What are you doing?”
“I am arriving.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I am in the process of arriving but I am not there yet.”
The boy continued to stare at him, then looked around. He took a step closer.
“Arriving where?”
“Now that, young man, is the question. When do we know we have arrived?”
The boy kicked his foot at an imagined stone on the sidewalk.
“I arrived here today with my Mom.”
The Arriver smiled.
“Yes, yes you did. And I stopped here this morning.”
“Then you’re done arriving. You arrived!”
The Arriver nodded.
“Yes, I have stopped on this sidewalk. But I haven’t arrived.”
The boy, again flummoxed, considered this response for a moment, then asked the Arriver, “Well, why did you stop here?”
The Arriver smiled, and said, “I stopped here because I finally realized I needed a destination. I used to travel, and when I was the Traveler, I became very skilled at departing. Later, as the Observer, I became an expert at observing. Now, I want to pay more attention to arriving.”
The boy looked back toward the store, then squatted down until he was eye to eye with the Arriver.
“So you’ve stopped.”
The Arriver nodded.
“But you didn’t arrive yet.”
The Arriver shook his head.
“How will you know when you arrived?”
The Arriver nodded approvingly.
“I will know when the question I have asked is answered. I will know when my reply is delivered. I will know when I receive my message.”
The boy just stared at him.
“What’s your question?”
“There is only one question that matters. I traveled for a very long time. I traveled through life without paying attention. I traveled without focusing on where I was. I traveled for the sake of traveling’s sake.”
The boy listened carefully.
“I finally stopped traveling because I wished to observe. I wished to observe that which God made. I wished to observe that which man made, and I wished to observe all the moments time still intends to provide me. I have observed all the things I forgot to stop to see when I was traveling. I had always departed before I observed.”
The young boy considered all the words the Arriver said, then looked off into the horizon, toward the mountain the Arriver had been observing for much of that afternoon.
The Arriver watched the boy for a moment, then followed his gaze toward the horizon. Quietly, the Arriver asked, “Do you know what the question is?”
The young boy was straining his mind, thinking very carefully about the words he heard. He looked behind him toward the store again. Then his shoulders raised in a big sigh.
“What’s the point?”
The Arriver furrowed his brow.
“What do you mean?”
“What’s the point? That’s the question.”
The boy turned and squatted down to be eye level with the Arriver.
“You’ve been traveling all this time, and ignoring everything. Then you realize you haven’t been paying attention, so you stopped to observe everything. You want to do it before you run out of time, because eventually we all run out of time, don’t we?”
The Arriver remained quiet. The boy, lost in his thoughts, looked through the Arriver, into the beyond.
“You said you stopped, but that you haven’t arrived. I think, actually, you don’t know if you arrived or not. That’s the problem. Or maybe that’s the question. When will I know when I arrived?”
The Arriver smiled, then handed the boy his white chrysanthemum.
“Yes, that is my question. When will I know that I have arrived? But I think, by uncovering my question, you uncovered your own.”
“My own?”
“Yes,” The Arriver said, “it was the first thing that came to your mind when you tried to find my question. Your mind knows the question even if you are not conscious of it. It’s the fuel that drives your body every day, it’s what your mind considers when you drift off to sleep and lose the ability to bury it. It’s the sculpture within the block of marble, and you, it’s Michaelangelo.”
The Arriver looked away, back toward Mesa de las Vacas.
“What you really want to know, you wonder, what’s the point?”
The boy stood, mouth open, staring at the Arriver. Then he nodded, slowly.
“Now,” the Arriver said, “if that’s the question, do you know the answer?”
The boy continued to stare, then finally forced himself to look away, back into the void.
There was another jingle behind them, this one much louder, as the boy’s mother forcefully pushed open the door and came running. She grabbed the boy by the arm, then eyed the Arriver suspiciously.
“What were you doing with my son?”
“We were just talking,” the Arriver said.
The boy snapped out of his stasis and cried, “Mommy, he’s waiting for the answer to his question!” the boy said excitedly.
The mother, confused, looked from her son to the Arriver, then back again.
“What question?” she asked.
“Mommy, he helped me figure out my question, too!”
Exasperated, his mother simply asked, “What?”
“What’s the point?”
“What’s the point of what?”
The boy spread his arms to either side and spun around, yelling, “What’s the point of all this! That’s my question!”
The Arriver stood, finally, and looked at the boy.
“If you want to know the answer to your question, you should try to answer mine. So, what’s the answer to my question, young man? When have I arrived?”
The boy stopped spinning and stood looking up at the man, panting from his display. He clenched his mother’s hand in his own and kicked his imaginary stone again.
“I think you go lots of places. You stop at lots of places, too. But I think maybe you only arrive once.”
The boy looked down at the chrysanthemum in his hand.
“I think you’ve arrived when you can figure out how to travel and observe at the same time. When you can stop and enjoy each moment.”
The Arriver smiled and handed the boy’s mother the iris, which she accepted with a confused expression on her face.
“So, young man, do you now know the answer to your question? What’s the point of all this?” the Arriver asked, spreading his arms to the heavens?
The boy nodded slowly.
THE END
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