4 Liberation

As he immersed himself with his surroundings, the kind granny went to him.

"The meal is ready, now come and eat. So your strength may return." she said.

He nodded, and made his way to the table at the center of the tree house. There, a generous serving of wild herbs and mushroom soup was already prepared, waiting for him to eat it. The breezes that flew by once in awhile, lifted up the portiere made of woven wood strips, blowing warm steam coming off from the soup to his face. And like the winds that weathered mountains, that breeze of steam washed away all of his doubts and guilt, all his sorrow and regrets. It washed away the chilling sadness that was bone-deep within his marrow. All that left was only memories, yes... just memories.

He chuckled, laughing at how shortsighted he had been. For he had long forgotten, what he was fighting for. What he promised to them.

The future.

He clung to his memories, his past. Forgetting the moment and the infinite possibilities that stems from it. In the end, all of that brought him grief, and only grief. The grief of losing friend after friend simply because he outlived all of them, simply because they moved forward while he stagnated, simply because he was left behind.

Finally, what he failed to understand all this time, had been answered. The answers all his friends gave him as they started their journey to the Promised Land. A simple thanks.

His chuckles started turning into laughs, and laughs into roaring ones. It came from the depths of his heart. His eyes gradually turned moist as he laughs, tears started streaming down his cheeks. Like a dam breaking, the tears refused to stop. He was happy, for what was long lost and forgotten, came to mind.

He was a sailor, not more, not less. A navigator and pathfinder in sea. When one asks for direction, he would happily guide them, lest they got lost in the maze-like sea. That is what he had forgotten, what made him unable to understand the answers he got from all his friends throughout the ages. For when one was given directions, the right thing to do was to say thanks to the other party. A simple thanks.

He reached out and picked up the bowl of soup. The occasional breeze blew steam to his face, with it the clunking sound of wooden chimes rang. He took a sip, then another sip, again and again, up until the very end. He finally put the bowl down, his mind no longer a mess, as with his heart. He knew. That he was guided, directed, to the path of liberation in heart and mind. The him before would not accept it, out of pride and shame. But the him now was not Leon, ruler of the seven seas. Instead, it was Leon the sailor.

He wiped the tears with his hands. And with slightly swollen eyes from his crying, he faced the kind granny with utmost respect. "Thank you." was all he said. And a simple "You're welcome." was replied to him. Just like it always be.