not enough
you want more
as you step on the heart
that beat beside yours
like a stone in a creek
expecting it to be there
when you make your way back
but life and rivers
do not remain static
enough may be over the next hill
or it may be buried under water
invisible on your return
i figured out that i'm not much of a poet. but i wrote this the first time taylor broke up with shosha, and even though the words are not crafted as well as i would like, i think they still fit.
Saturday, January 08, 2011
Christmas story - 2010 (a little late due to technical difficulties)
Outside, the freezing desert night.
This other night inside grows warm, kindling.
~ Rumi
Farzan was not born a slave. Farzan was not born Farzan. He was born Mani, first born son of an Afghan trader. He was sold to his master after his mother died giving birth to his brother. He never saw his father again.
A long time ago, Farzan could remember his mother’s face and even her voice as she whispered his name, waking him from sleep. But the image was so faded now that it was more a memory of a memory.
His master had named him Farzan, which means wisdom. Farzan’s master was a priest and the wisest man of his village. No one was more learned than his master and Farzan was his only slave. His master had not wanted a slave. He said he had no need of one. He spent most of his days and much of the night in study, of the stars and of the Gathas. Some said that he could quote every Gatha by heart. Farzan believed this could be true, but he would never ask him. Nor would his master answer, certain to repudiate any exhibition of his knowledge.
His fellow priest had brought Farzan and his father to his master. “You are getting old,” he told him. “This young boy will help you in your old age.”
“His father is in need of money,” he added.
His master had looked long and hard at his father then. His father stood before the scholar, shabby and defiant, thrusting Farzan forward. Farzan himself had kept his head down, trying desperately to hide his tears from both his father and the old man before him. His master had glanced down at him and then back to his father. He never spoke a word to Farzan’s father. He simply nodded to his fellow priest to give him the money, turned and returned to the fire temple. It was the other priest who had led Farzan to where he would stay and given him food to eat.
The next day, his master gave him his new name. “I will call you, Farzan, he said. “For your father has not treated you as a jewel, and wisdom is the greatest gift you can receive.” Farzan nodded. His name, Mani, meant jewel, and this man was right; his father had not treated him as a jewel.
His education began immediately for of what worth would a slave who could not read be to the most educated man of the village. Farzan’s master was the most educated man of the entire region. Not only did he read and study the Gathas and the heavens, but also the writings of the Hebrews and of Buddha. The Hebrews interested him because of their shared belief in one Creator God when all around them, people worshipped a multitude of deities, petty and specific. Buddha interested him because of his writings on good living. Zarathustra would approve.
But there were those who didn’t approve of his master’s study. The purists did not think it proper to study any other belief system, nor to read commentaries of the Gathas. His master scoffed at these detractors. “How can we believe that Ahura Mazda does not speak to men in every age? Even Zarathustra was only a man. As the stars give light in the night sky, so Ahura Mazda gives to us the light of wisdom.”
There were also those who disapproved of Farzan. Not his status as a slave. Many who could afford them had slaves for domestic work or for training in a needed skill. No. What they disapproved of was Farzan’s status as acolyte. He had been trained from the beginning, not just to read and write, but to study the Gathas and to follow the path set by Zarathustra. The followers of Zarathustra did not proselytize and they did not intermarry with non-believers. His master did not disagree with this. He explained to Farzan how the Hebrews were often diverted from their worship by intermarriage with those outside their faith.
“We accept the gifts we are given “was all he ever said about the people who criticized him over Farzan.
But Farzan was not a gift; he was a slave. No matter how kind his master, he was still his master. His father’s betrayal was not forgotten. Farzan wasn’t sure how old he was when he was sold to the master. Perhaps five or six. He knew that there had been 15 cycles of the calendar since that day. He was by any reckoning now a man, but still a slave. He could not leave. He could not go in search of the father who had abandoned him, not that he wanted to. Farzan just wanted to be able to walk out of the village and go wherever his heart would take him. He could never do that. He belonged to his master.
Farzan‘s life as a slave was better than that of most of the free men of his village. Not only was he educated but he was well fed and kindly treated. He knew he should be without complaint. And yet, he felt this dark hole in his heart that his father had sold him and left him forever in the possession of another. He longed for a freedom that was beyond him, a freedom to choose his own path. That was his deepest wish. How could Ahura Mazda be truly pleased with his right living when he had so little choice? Farzan fingered the cord attached to his jacket. Good Words, Good Thoughts, Good Deeds. He managed the words and deeds well, but his thoughts were so often dark and ungrateful.
***
The moment a child is born, the mother is also born.
~Rajneesh
Freedom was not in his future but travel was. Many days ago a brilliant light had appeared in the sky, larger than any star that had ever been seen. His master had been studying both the light, which his master explained was not a star as they knew it, as well as the holy writings of Zarathustra and of the Hebrews. He speculated that the star might actually be a cluster of tiny stars so close together as to appear as one, but he could find no record of such a phenomenon in any of his texts. Neither he nor his fellow priest had ever heard of such a sighting as what now appeared nightly in the sky. Both priests had searched the Hebrew Scriptures and thought they had found a possible answer. Apparently, the Hebrews, much like the followers of Zarathustra, anticipated the coming of a saoshyant. The Hebrews called him the messiah. He was to be born in the town of Bethlehem in a place called Judea, a part of the Roman Empire.
The Roman Empire was far from the Persian Empire although its roads were said to be the best in the world. Still, Farzan wondered how they would get to a place so far away before the star disappeared as so many of the heavenly apparitions did. His master told him not to worry. If the star could no longer be seen by the time they reached the Roman Empire, then it meant their interpretation was wrong and the trip would still be worthwhile for all that they would learn there.
It was decided to purchase gifts for the child in a crossroads town his master had visited before. “Such wonders for sale there, Farzan. You will see traders there as dark as the earth and as pale as the moon.” Farzan smirked at such a thought, thinking surely his master was teasing him. His master merely smiled in return, nodding at his fellow priest who chuckled with delight.
The trip to Arabia was the longest Farzan had ever taken and was only half their journey to the Hebrew town. His master had not lied. He had seen men blacker than the dirt in their garden and men with the palest of skin covered with hair as yellow as a flower.
The smells were overwhelming. Farzan was used to having spices cooked in his food and the smell of incense spice burning in the fire temple, but the number and variety of spices for sale in this market was like nothing he had ever known.
On their last day in the town, they met a funeral procession. It must have been a very rich merchant for the crowd of paid mourners went on and on, wailing loudly to draw attention to the macabre parade. Finally, the richly draped body passed them, followed by a man with a small boy clinging to his side, weeping and calling loudly for the mother who preceded him. Farzan was overwhelmed by a scent and a memory that made him physically stumble. Only the hand of his master prevented his fall. He remembered again, vividly, the day they had buried his mother. He was shattered once again by the grief of that time, the inconsolable desolation that was the loss of his mother. The ache of his sorrow consumed him as if not a moment had gone from that terrible day.
The scent had not been there at his own mother’s funeral but it now surrounded him with a bitter sweetness that he knew would be forever linked with the memory of his mother.
“Farzan,” his master said kindly. “Are you unwell?”
“That scent,” replied Farzan, “What is it?”
“Ahh, “his master returned. “ A very expensive fragrance. Dearer than the frankincense we have already purchased. It is used only by the wealthiest of men.”
Good words. Good thoughts. Good deeds. Farzan was still besieged by the memory of his mother, her love for him, how much he suddenly missed her. “Should we not buy such a spice for this saoshyant, this messiah of the Hebrews?”
His master was silent in his thoughts, as he always was when making an important decision. Farzan had no way of knowing that this spice was used only for the dead. It was not a gift to present to a new mother or child. But his master understood what Farzan had not said. He knew this gift would be about a mother’s love.
“Yes, Farzan. I think we should.”
***
For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour,
which is Christ the Lord.
~ Luke 2: 11
Farzan’s master and his fellow priest were important men. They were important even within the Roman Empire. They drew attention to themselves from the moment they entered the empire, not only for their foreign attire and obvious wealth, but for their knowledge and ability to speak in Latin, Aramaic and several other local dialects. Farzan was continually amazed by their knowledge.
Courtesy dictated that they pay homage to the local leader and share with him their reason for visiting such a remote outpost of the Roman Empire. They were accepted into Herod’s court with great fanfare and greeted with the utmost respect by Herod himself. Gifts and greetings were exchanged, but Farzan noticed that Herod’s smile never extended to his eyes; and when they explained their purpose, his eyes narrowed as his voice sweetened with flattery. His master was told how delighted Herod was to hear of this news and please, he must share with him the location of this child born to rule the Hebrews.
“Master, “Farzan spoke when they were again on their way. “I do not believe this Herod was happy with your discovery.”
“No, Farzan. I do not believe he was. He had Good Words to say about him and will likely bring gifts to him as Good Deeds would dictate, but he will not have Good Thoughts, do you think?
Farzan did not answer, wondering for the first time if his master suspected how often his own thoughts were rebellious and unappreciative. Did his master suspect how often Farzan had dreamed of running away from the comforts that had been provided to a mere slave? Were his comments about Herod a rebuke of Farzan’s hypocrisy of Good Words and Good Deeds hiding his non-virtuous thoughts?
They had not many days left to travel and the star shone as brightly as it had the first night. Farzan was troubled in his heart. He was experiencing the most exciting trip of his life, a trip most free men would never know. What was some elusive freedom compared to the life he had been given with his scholarly master?
In the last league before Bethlehem, the source of his discontent revealed itself to Farzan in a moment of illumination. It was not his status as slave that caused his dark thoughts. It was his inability to forgive his father.
What had he done to earn his father’s hatred? Why had his father not clung to him as the boy and his father had done in that far away Arabian town? His mother had died and his father had deserted him, sold him as you would an animal, and left him forever without family. He had so many terrible unanswered questions, but the one burned within him, encompassing all of the others. Why did his father not love him?
The path blurred before him as the tears he had not shed so long ago began to burn in his eyes. His master and the other priest did not notice him because they were so involved in their own conversation and calculations. They had spoken to many of the villagers and were hurrying to the place indicated as the home of the strangers who had come for the census over a year ago. The woman had given birth in a cave, and the man now took work as a carpenter. The sun was sinking behind the distant hills as they hurried forward to meet this unlikely couple and the child who was destined to be messiah to the Hebrews.
Farzan barely attended to the discussion with the father as his master presented their gifts and told the carpenter of his studies and the appearance of the star and how it had led them to this place. Farzan was struggling to control his sudden and fierce grief. How could he have Good Thoughts when his own father had sold him? How could he forgive him for not wanting him?
It was only as they were leaving that Farzan’s vision cleared and he focused on the baby they had come all this way to see. He didn’t look like a saoshyant. He looked like any other child. His father held him in his arms where the child looked quite content. It was both beautiful and painful. In his father’s arms was a familiar place for this child.
As the priests said their final goodbye, the small boy grasped his father’s beard with his chubby fist and gave it a gentle pull. The father looked down and smiled which brought a happy gurgle from the babe. And then, as if he knew how intently Farzan had been watching, the child turned and looked directly at Farzan, his eyes steady and old and wise as any sage. This child was both loved and loving. Farzan was captivated by the child’s gaze, rooted to the rough flooring of the house. He may have stood there indefinitely had his master not gently nudged him towards the door.
***
Great thoughts and a pure heart, that is what we should ask from God.
~Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe
Farzan walked away in a daze. Again his master and his colleague did not notice him, so engrossed in their own conversation of the meeting they had just had. The priests decided to camp by the side of the road rather than stop at an inn that night. The village inns were crude and they preferred their own company to mull over their recent experiences and the texts they had brought with them.
It was a cool spring night, and the fire was more than sufficient to keep them warm. It was well into the night when the two priests finally ended their conversation and gentle snoring filled the night air. There was no such sleep for Farzan. He had no words for what he felt. He performed his tasks inattentively. It was as though he was suspended in time, still ensnared by the eyes of the infant.
He had met the messiah of the Hebrews. He was convinced of that. He could not explain how this babe had conveyed to him so much without words or rituals or sound. He understood in a way he never had before that love was the basis of all Good Words, Good Thoughts and Good Deeds.
Farzan’s father had not loved him. This was the source of his inability to maintain Good Thoughts. But Farzan had been loved. He didn’t understand it, but he knew that his master loved him. How does a master come to love a slave? But even as he questioned it, he knew it to be true.
A low moaning interrupted his contemplations. “No. No. No!” came from his master as he thrust his sleeping cloak from his chest.
“What is it, Master?” Farzan asked as he rushed to his side. His master’s friend and fellow priest arose and held his master’s other side.
“We must return by another way,” his master gasped. “The evil in this man Herod. It is terrible, terrible! His plans are the work of Angra Mainyu. He desires to kill this holy child.”
His master’s words sent chills to the back of Farzan’s neck. His heart began to race and his breath seemed to stop. Such evil was unimaginable, to kill a holy child, the messiah of his people.
“We will not let this happen,” declared the priest from his master’s side. “We will return by the sea to Syria. Farzan has never traveled by boat. It will be another element of his education. We will mold this evil into good.”
“Yes, of course,” his master answered. “You are wise in this as always, my friend.”
Farzan suddenly felt the need to confess his evil thoughts to his master. He was such a good master and Farzan had been an ungrateful slave.
“Master,” Farzan began. “I have not had Good Thoughts as you have taught me. I have resented my life as a slave. In spite of how well you have treated me, I have longed to be free of you.”
“Farzan,” the old master said gently. “You have never been my slave. Did you not perform Navjote in your second year with me? We are family. I never recorded the purchase of a slave. I thanked Ahura Mazda for the giving of a gift.”
“You have never been a slave,” he repeated.
In that moment, Farzan knew this truth. It was his own heart that had enslaved him. His master had never treated him as a slave. This was the reason for his critics. His master had adopted him into full fellowship in both worship and into his life.
“Forgive me, Master,” Farzan beseeched. “I have been slow to understand.”
“It was the message of the holy child,” his master responded. “Let us unwrap our cords and worship facing the sacred star of the Hebrews. Perhaps this messiah will be saoshyant to us as well.”
Outside, the freezing desert night.
This other night inside grows warm, kindling.
~ Rumi
Farzan was not born a slave. Farzan was not born Farzan. He was born Mani, first born son of an Afghan trader. He was sold to his master after his mother died giving birth to his brother. He never saw his father again.
A long time ago, Farzan could remember his mother’s face and even her voice as she whispered his name, waking him from sleep. But the image was so faded now that it was more a memory of a memory.
His master had named him Farzan, which means wisdom. Farzan’s master was a priest and the wisest man of his village. No one was more learned than his master and Farzan was his only slave. His master had not wanted a slave. He said he had no need of one. He spent most of his days and much of the night in study, of the stars and of the Gathas. Some said that he could quote every Gatha by heart. Farzan believed this could be true, but he would never ask him. Nor would his master answer, certain to repudiate any exhibition of his knowledge.
His fellow priest had brought Farzan and his father to his master. “You are getting old,” he told him. “This young boy will help you in your old age.”
“His father is in need of money,” he added.
His master had looked long and hard at his father then. His father stood before the scholar, shabby and defiant, thrusting Farzan forward. Farzan himself had kept his head down, trying desperately to hide his tears from both his father and the old man before him. His master had glanced down at him and then back to his father. He never spoke a word to Farzan’s father. He simply nodded to his fellow priest to give him the money, turned and returned to the fire temple. It was the other priest who had led Farzan to where he would stay and given him food to eat.
The next day, his master gave him his new name. “I will call you, Farzan, he said. “For your father has not treated you as a jewel, and wisdom is the greatest gift you can receive.” Farzan nodded. His name, Mani, meant jewel, and this man was right; his father had not treated him as a jewel.
His education began immediately for of what worth would a slave who could not read be to the most educated man of the village. Farzan’s master was the most educated man of the entire region. Not only did he read and study the Gathas and the heavens, but also the writings of the Hebrews and of Buddha. The Hebrews interested him because of their shared belief in one Creator God when all around them, people worshipped a multitude of deities, petty and specific. Buddha interested him because of his writings on good living. Zarathustra would approve.
But there were those who didn’t approve of his master’s study. The purists did not think it proper to study any other belief system, nor to read commentaries of the Gathas. His master scoffed at these detractors. “How can we believe that Ahura Mazda does not speak to men in every age? Even Zarathustra was only a man. As the stars give light in the night sky, so Ahura Mazda gives to us the light of wisdom.”
There were also those who disapproved of Farzan. Not his status as a slave. Many who could afford them had slaves for domestic work or for training in a needed skill. No. What they disapproved of was Farzan’s status as acolyte. He had been trained from the beginning, not just to read and write, but to study the Gathas and to follow the path set by Zarathustra. The followers of Zarathustra did not proselytize and they did not intermarry with non-believers. His master did not disagree with this. He explained to Farzan how the Hebrews were often diverted from their worship by intermarriage with those outside their faith.
“We accept the gifts we are given “was all he ever said about the people who criticized him over Farzan.
But Farzan was not a gift; he was a slave. No matter how kind his master, he was still his master. His father’s betrayal was not forgotten. Farzan wasn’t sure how old he was when he was sold to the master. Perhaps five or six. He knew that there had been 15 cycles of the calendar since that day. He was by any reckoning now a man, but still a slave. He could not leave. He could not go in search of the father who had abandoned him, not that he wanted to. Farzan just wanted to be able to walk out of the village and go wherever his heart would take him. He could never do that. He belonged to his master.
Farzan‘s life as a slave was better than that of most of the free men of his village. Not only was he educated but he was well fed and kindly treated. He knew he should be without complaint. And yet, he felt this dark hole in his heart that his father had sold him and left him forever in the possession of another. He longed for a freedom that was beyond him, a freedom to choose his own path. That was his deepest wish. How could Ahura Mazda be truly pleased with his right living when he had so little choice? Farzan fingered the cord attached to his jacket. Good Words, Good Thoughts, Good Deeds. He managed the words and deeds well, but his thoughts were so often dark and ungrateful.
***
The moment a child is born, the mother is also born.
~Rajneesh
Freedom was not in his future but travel was. Many days ago a brilliant light had appeared in the sky, larger than any star that had ever been seen. His master had been studying both the light, which his master explained was not a star as they knew it, as well as the holy writings of Zarathustra and of the Hebrews. He speculated that the star might actually be a cluster of tiny stars so close together as to appear as one, but he could find no record of such a phenomenon in any of his texts. Neither he nor his fellow priest had ever heard of such a sighting as what now appeared nightly in the sky. Both priests had searched the Hebrew Scriptures and thought they had found a possible answer. Apparently, the Hebrews, much like the followers of Zarathustra, anticipated the coming of a saoshyant. The Hebrews called him the messiah. He was to be born in the town of Bethlehem in a place called Judea, a part of the Roman Empire.
The Roman Empire was far from the Persian Empire although its roads were said to be the best in the world. Still, Farzan wondered how they would get to a place so far away before the star disappeared as so many of the heavenly apparitions did. His master told him not to worry. If the star could no longer be seen by the time they reached the Roman Empire, then it meant their interpretation was wrong and the trip would still be worthwhile for all that they would learn there.
It was decided to purchase gifts for the child in a crossroads town his master had visited before. “Such wonders for sale there, Farzan. You will see traders there as dark as the earth and as pale as the moon.” Farzan smirked at such a thought, thinking surely his master was teasing him. His master merely smiled in return, nodding at his fellow priest who chuckled with delight.
The trip to Arabia was the longest Farzan had ever taken and was only half their journey to the Hebrew town. His master had not lied. He had seen men blacker than the dirt in their garden and men with the palest of skin covered with hair as yellow as a flower.
The smells were overwhelming. Farzan was used to having spices cooked in his food and the smell of incense spice burning in the fire temple, but the number and variety of spices for sale in this market was like nothing he had ever known.
On their last day in the town, they met a funeral procession. It must have been a very rich merchant for the crowd of paid mourners went on and on, wailing loudly to draw attention to the macabre parade. Finally, the richly draped body passed them, followed by a man with a small boy clinging to his side, weeping and calling loudly for the mother who preceded him. Farzan was overwhelmed by a scent and a memory that made him physically stumble. Only the hand of his master prevented his fall. He remembered again, vividly, the day they had buried his mother. He was shattered once again by the grief of that time, the inconsolable desolation that was the loss of his mother. The ache of his sorrow consumed him as if not a moment had gone from that terrible day.
The scent had not been there at his own mother’s funeral but it now surrounded him with a bitter sweetness that he knew would be forever linked with the memory of his mother.
“Farzan,” his master said kindly. “Are you unwell?”
“That scent,” replied Farzan, “What is it?”
“Ahh, “his master returned. “ A very expensive fragrance. Dearer than the frankincense we have already purchased. It is used only by the wealthiest of men.”
Good words. Good thoughts. Good deeds. Farzan was still besieged by the memory of his mother, her love for him, how much he suddenly missed her. “Should we not buy such a spice for this saoshyant, this messiah of the Hebrews?”
His master was silent in his thoughts, as he always was when making an important decision. Farzan had no way of knowing that this spice was used only for the dead. It was not a gift to present to a new mother or child. But his master understood what Farzan had not said. He knew this gift would be about a mother’s love.
“Yes, Farzan. I think we should.”
***
For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour,
which is Christ the Lord.
~ Luke 2: 11
Farzan’s master and his fellow priest were important men. They were important even within the Roman Empire. They drew attention to themselves from the moment they entered the empire, not only for their foreign attire and obvious wealth, but for their knowledge and ability to speak in Latin, Aramaic and several other local dialects. Farzan was continually amazed by their knowledge.
Courtesy dictated that they pay homage to the local leader and share with him their reason for visiting such a remote outpost of the Roman Empire. They were accepted into Herod’s court with great fanfare and greeted with the utmost respect by Herod himself. Gifts and greetings were exchanged, but Farzan noticed that Herod’s smile never extended to his eyes; and when they explained their purpose, his eyes narrowed as his voice sweetened with flattery. His master was told how delighted Herod was to hear of this news and please, he must share with him the location of this child born to rule the Hebrews.
“Master, “Farzan spoke when they were again on their way. “I do not believe this Herod was happy with your discovery.”
“No, Farzan. I do not believe he was. He had Good Words to say about him and will likely bring gifts to him as Good Deeds would dictate, but he will not have Good Thoughts, do you think?
Farzan did not answer, wondering for the first time if his master suspected how often his own thoughts were rebellious and unappreciative. Did his master suspect how often Farzan had dreamed of running away from the comforts that had been provided to a mere slave? Were his comments about Herod a rebuke of Farzan’s hypocrisy of Good Words and Good Deeds hiding his non-virtuous thoughts?
They had not many days left to travel and the star shone as brightly as it had the first night. Farzan was troubled in his heart. He was experiencing the most exciting trip of his life, a trip most free men would never know. What was some elusive freedom compared to the life he had been given with his scholarly master?
In the last league before Bethlehem, the source of his discontent revealed itself to Farzan in a moment of illumination. It was not his status as slave that caused his dark thoughts. It was his inability to forgive his father.
What had he done to earn his father’s hatred? Why had his father not clung to him as the boy and his father had done in that far away Arabian town? His mother had died and his father had deserted him, sold him as you would an animal, and left him forever without family. He had so many terrible unanswered questions, but the one burned within him, encompassing all of the others. Why did his father not love him?
The path blurred before him as the tears he had not shed so long ago began to burn in his eyes. His master and the other priest did not notice him because they were so involved in their own conversation and calculations. They had spoken to many of the villagers and were hurrying to the place indicated as the home of the strangers who had come for the census over a year ago. The woman had given birth in a cave, and the man now took work as a carpenter. The sun was sinking behind the distant hills as they hurried forward to meet this unlikely couple and the child who was destined to be messiah to the Hebrews.
Farzan barely attended to the discussion with the father as his master presented their gifts and told the carpenter of his studies and the appearance of the star and how it had led them to this place. Farzan was struggling to control his sudden and fierce grief. How could he have Good Thoughts when his own father had sold him? How could he forgive him for not wanting him?
It was only as they were leaving that Farzan’s vision cleared and he focused on the baby they had come all this way to see. He didn’t look like a saoshyant. He looked like any other child. His father held him in his arms where the child looked quite content. It was both beautiful and painful. In his father’s arms was a familiar place for this child.
As the priests said their final goodbye, the small boy grasped his father’s beard with his chubby fist and gave it a gentle pull. The father looked down and smiled which brought a happy gurgle from the babe. And then, as if he knew how intently Farzan had been watching, the child turned and looked directly at Farzan, his eyes steady and old and wise as any sage. This child was both loved and loving. Farzan was captivated by the child’s gaze, rooted to the rough flooring of the house. He may have stood there indefinitely had his master not gently nudged him towards the door.
***
Great thoughts and a pure heart, that is what we should ask from God.
~Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe
Farzan walked away in a daze. Again his master and his colleague did not notice him, so engrossed in their own conversation of the meeting they had just had. The priests decided to camp by the side of the road rather than stop at an inn that night. The village inns were crude and they preferred their own company to mull over their recent experiences and the texts they had brought with them.
It was a cool spring night, and the fire was more than sufficient to keep them warm. It was well into the night when the two priests finally ended their conversation and gentle snoring filled the night air. There was no such sleep for Farzan. He had no words for what he felt. He performed his tasks inattentively. It was as though he was suspended in time, still ensnared by the eyes of the infant.
He had met the messiah of the Hebrews. He was convinced of that. He could not explain how this babe had conveyed to him so much without words or rituals or sound. He understood in a way he never had before that love was the basis of all Good Words, Good Thoughts and Good Deeds.
Farzan’s father had not loved him. This was the source of his inability to maintain Good Thoughts. But Farzan had been loved. He didn’t understand it, but he knew that his master loved him. How does a master come to love a slave? But even as he questioned it, he knew it to be true.
A low moaning interrupted his contemplations. “No. No. No!” came from his master as he thrust his sleeping cloak from his chest.
“What is it, Master?” Farzan asked as he rushed to his side. His master’s friend and fellow priest arose and held his master’s other side.
“We must return by another way,” his master gasped. “The evil in this man Herod. It is terrible, terrible! His plans are the work of Angra Mainyu. He desires to kill this holy child.”
His master’s words sent chills to the back of Farzan’s neck. His heart began to race and his breath seemed to stop. Such evil was unimaginable, to kill a holy child, the messiah of his people.
“We will not let this happen,” declared the priest from his master’s side. “We will return by the sea to Syria. Farzan has never traveled by boat. It will be another element of his education. We will mold this evil into good.”
“Yes, of course,” his master answered. “You are wise in this as always, my friend.”
Farzan suddenly felt the need to confess his evil thoughts to his master. He was such a good master and Farzan had been an ungrateful slave.
“Master,” Farzan began. “I have not had Good Thoughts as you have taught me. I have resented my life as a slave. In spite of how well you have treated me, I have longed to be free of you.”
“Farzan,” the old master said gently. “You have never been my slave. Did you not perform Navjote in your second year with me? We are family. I never recorded the purchase of a slave. I thanked Ahura Mazda for the giving of a gift.”
“You have never been a slave,” he repeated.
In that moment, Farzan knew this truth. It was his own heart that had enslaved him. His master had never treated him as a slave. This was the reason for his critics. His master had adopted him into full fellowship in both worship and into his life.
“Forgive me, Master,” Farzan beseeched. “I have been slow to understand.”
“It was the message of the holy child,” his master responded. “Let us unwrap our cords and worship facing the sacred star of the Hebrews. Perhaps this messiah will be saoshyant to us as well.”