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I
have
a
friend
from
high
school
who
now
works
with
the
mentally
handicapped
,
and
he
says
his
autistic
patients
have
a
particularly
heartbreaking
awareness
of
time
’
s
passage
,
as
if
they
never
got
the
mental
filter
that
allows
the
rest
of
us
to
forget
about
mortality
every
once
in
a
while
and
just
live
.
One
of
Rob
’
s
patients
always
asks
him
the
date
at
the
beginning
of
every
day
,
and
at
the
end
of
the
day
will
ask
,
"
Rob
-
when
will
it
be
February
fourth
again
?
"
And
before
Rob
can
answer
,
the
guy
shakes
his
head
in
sorrow
and
says
,
"
I
know
,
I
know
,
never
mind
…
not
until
next
year
,
right
?
"
I
know
this
feeling
all
too
intimately
.
I
know
the
sad
longing
to
delay
the
end
of
another
February
4
.
This
sadness
is
one
of
the
great
trials
of
the
human
experiment
.
As
far
as
we
know
,
we
are
the
only
species
on
the
planet
who
have
been
given
the
gift
-
or
curse
,
perhaps
-
of
awareness
about
our
own
mortality
.
Everything
here
eventually
dies
;
we
’
re
just
the
lucky
ones
who
get
to
think
about
this
fact
every
day
.
How
are
you
going
to
cope
with
this
information
?
When
I
was
nine
,
I
couldn
’
t
do
a
thing
with
it
except
cry
.
Later
,
over
the
years
,
my
hypersensitive
awareness
of
time
’
s
speed
led
me
to
push
myself
to
experience
life
at
a
maximum
pace
.
If
I
were
going
to
have
such
a
short
visit
on
earth
,
I
had
to
do
everything
possible
to
experience
it
now
.
Hence
all
the
traveling
,
all
the
romances
,
all
the
ambition
,
all
the
pasta
.
My
sister
had
a
friend
who
used
to
think
that
Catherine
had
two
or
three
younger
sisters
,
because
she
was
always
hearing
stories
about
the
sister
who
was
in
Africa
,
the
sister
who
was
working
on
a
ranch
in
Wyoming
,
the
sister
who
was
the
bartender
in
New
York
,
the
sister
who
was
writing
a
book
,
the
sister
who
was
getting
married
-
surely
this
could
not
all
be
the
same
person
?
Indeed
,
if
I
could
have
split
myself
into
many
Liz
Gilberts
,
I
would
willingly
have
done
so
,
in
order
to
not
miss
a
moment
of
life
.
What
am
I
saying
?
I
did
split
myself
into
many
Liz
Gilberts
,
all
of
whom
simultaneously
collapsed
in
exhaustion
on
a
bathroom
floor
in
the
suburbs
one
night
,
somewhere
around
the
age
of
thirty
.
I
should
say
here
that
I
’
m
aware
not
everyone
goes
through
this
kind
of
metaphysical
crisis
.
Some
of
us
are
hardwired
for
anxiety
about
mortality
,
while
some
of
us
just
seem
more
comfortable
with
the
whole
deal
.
You
meet
lots
of
apathetic
people
in
this
world
,
of
course
,
but
you
also
meet
some
people
who
seem
to
be
able
to
gracefully
accept
the
terms
upon
which
the
universe
operates
and
who
genuinely
don
’
t
seem
troubled
by
its
paradoxes
and
injustices
.
I
have
a
friend
whose
grandmother
used
to
tell
her
,
"
There
’
s
no
trouble
in
this
world
so
serious
that
it
can
’
t
be
cured
with
a
hot
bath
,
a
glass
of
whiskey
and
the
Book
of
Common
Prayer
.
"
For
some
people
,
that
’
s
truly
enough
.
For
others
,
more
drastic
measures
are
required
.
And
now
I
will
mention
my
friend
the
dairy
farmer
from
Ireland
-
on
the
surface
,
a
most
unlikely
character
to
meet
in
an
Indian
Ashram
.
But
Sean
is
one
of
those
people
like
me
who
were
born
with
the
itch
,
the
mad
and
relentless
urge
to
understand
the
workings
of
existence
.
His
little
parish
in
County
Cork
didn
’
t
seem
to
have
any
of
these
answers
,
so
he
left
the
farm
in
the
1980s
to
go
traveling
through
India
,
looking
for
inner
peace
through
Yoga
.
A
few
years
later
,
he
returned
home
to
the
dairy
farm
in
Ireland
.
He
was
sitting
in
the
kitchen
of
the
old
stone
house
with
his
father
-
a
lifelong
farmer
and
a
man
of
few
words
-
and
Sean
was
telling
him
all
about
his
spiritual
discoveries
in
the
exotic
East
.
Sean
’
s
father
listened
with
mild
interest
,
watching
the
fire
in
the
hearth
,
smoking
his
pipe
.
He
didn
’
t
speak
at
all
until
Sean
said
,
"
Da
-
this
meditation
stuff
,
it
’
s
crucial
for
teaching
serenity
.
It
can
really
save
your
life
.
It
teaches
you
how
to
quiet
your
mind
.
"
His
father
turned
to
him
and
said
kindly
,
"
I
have
a
quiet
mind
already
,
son
,
"
then
resumed
his
gaze
on
the
fire
.
But
I
don
’
t
.
Nor
does
Sean
.
Many
of
us
don
’
t
.
Many
of
us
look
into
the
fire
and
see
only
inferno
.
I
need
to
actively
learn
how
to
do
what
Sean
’
s
father
,
it
seems
,
was
born
knowing
-
how
to
,
as
Walt
Whitman
once
wrote
,
stand
"
apart
from
the
pulling
and
hauling
…
amused
,
complacent
,
compassionating
,
idle
,
unitary
…
both
in
and
out
of
the
game
and
watching
and
wondering
at
it
all
.
"
Instead
of
being
amused
,
though
,
I
’
m
only
anxious
.
Instead
of
watching
,
I
’
m
always
probing
and
interfering
.
The
other
day
in
prayer
I
said
to
God
,
"
Look
-
I
understand
that
an
unexamined
life
is
not
worth
living
,
but
do
you
think
I
could
someday
have
an
unexamined
lunch
?
"
Buddhist
lore
has
a
story
about
the
moments
that
followed
the
Buddha
’
s
transcendence
into
enlightenment
.
When
-
after
thirty
-
nine
days
of
meditation
-
the
veil
of
illusion
finally
fell
away
and
the
true
workings
of
the
universe
were
revealed
to
the
great
master
,
he
was
reported
to
have
opened
his
eyes
and
said
immediately
,
"
This
cannot
be
taught
.
"
But
then
he
changed
his
mind
,
decided
that
he
would
go
out
into
the
world
,
after
all
,
and
attempt
to
teach
the
practice
of
meditation
to
a
small
handful
of
students
.
