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He
knew
there
would
be
only
a
meager
percentage
of
people
who
would
be
served
by
(
or
interested
in
)
his
teachings
.
Most
of
humanity
,
he
said
,
have
eyes
that
are
so
caked
shut
with
the
dust
of
deception
they
will
never
see
the
truth
,
no
matter
who
tries
to
help
them
.
A
few
others
(
like
Sean
’
s
Da
,
perhaps
)
are
so
naturally
clear
-
eyed
and
calm
already
that
they
need
no
instruction
or
assistance
whatsoever
.
But
then
there
are
those
whose
eyes
are
just
slightly
caked
with
dust
,
and
who
might
,
with
the
help
of
the
right
master
,
be
taught
to
see
more
clearly
someday
.
The
Buddha
decided
he
would
become
a
teacher
for
the
benefit
of
that
minority
-
"
for
those
of
little
dust
.
"
I
dearly
hope
that
I
am
one
of
these
mid
-
level
dust
-
caked
people
,
but
I
don
’
t
know
.
I
only
know
that
I
have
been
driven
to
find
inner
peace
with
methods
that
might
seem
a
bit
drastic
for
the
general
populace
.
(
For
instance
,
when
I
told
one
friend
back
in
New
York
City
that
I
was
going
to
India
to
live
in
an
Ashram
and
search
for
divinity
,
he
sighed
and
said
,
"
Oh
,
there
’
s
a
part
of
me
that
so
wishes
I
wanted
to
do
that
…
but
I
really
have
no
desire
for
it
whatsoever
.
"
)
I
don
’
t
know
that
I
have
much
of
a
choice
,
though
.
I
have
searched
frantically
for
contentment
for
so
many
years
in
so
many
ways
,
and
all
these
acquisitions
and
accomplishments
-
they
run
you
down
in
the
end
.
Life
,
if
you
keep
chasing
it
so
hard
,
will
drive
you
to
death
.
Time
-
when
pursued
like
a
bandit
-
will
behave
like
one
;
always
remaining
one
county
or
one
room
ahead
of
you
,
changing
its
name
and
hair
color
to
elude
you
,
slipping
out
the
back
door
of
the
motel
just
as
you
’
re
banging
through
the
lobby
with
your
newest
search
warrant
,
leaving
only
a
burning
cigarette
in
the
ashtray
to
taunt
you
.
At
some
point
you
have
to
stop
because
it
won
’
t
.
You
have
to
admit
that
you
can
’
t
catch
it
.
That
you
’
re
not
supposed
to
catch
it
.
At
some
point
,
as
Richard
keeps
telling
me
,
you
gotta
let
go
and
sit
still
and
allow
contentment
to
come
to
you
.
Letting
go
,
of
course
,
is
a
scary
enterprise
for
those
of
us
who
believe
that
the
world
revolves
only
because
it
has
a
handle
on
the
top
of
it
which
we
personally
turn
,
and
that
if
we
were
to
drop
this
handle
for
even
a
moment
,
well
-
that
would
be
the
end
of
the
universe
.
But
try
dropping
it
,
Groceries
.
This
is
the
message
I
’
m
getting
.
Sit
quietly
for
now
and
cease
your
relentless
participation
.
Watch
what
happens
.
The
birds
do
not
crash
dead
out
of
the
sky
in
mid
-
flight
,
after
all
.
The
trees
do
not
wither
and
die
,
the
rivers
do
not
run
red
with
blood
.
Life
continues
to
go
on
.
Even
the
Italian
post
office
will
keep
limping
along
,
doing
its
own
thing
without
you
-
why
are
you
so
sure
that
your
micromanagement
of
every
moment
in
this
whole
world
is
so
essential
?
Why
don
’
t
you
let
it
be
?
I
hear
this
argument
and
it
appeals
to
me
.
I
believe
in
it
,
intellectually
.
I
really
do
But
then
I
wonder
-
with
all
my
restless
yearning
,
with
all
my
hyped
-
up
fervor
and
with
this
stupidly
hungry
nature
of
mine
-
what
should
I
do
with
my
energy
,
instead
?
That
answer
arrives
,
too
:
Look
for
God
,
suggests
my
Guru
.
Look
for
God
like
a
man
with
his
head
on
fire
looks
for
water
.
The
next
morning
in
meditation
,
all
my
caustic
old
hateful
thoughts
come
up
again
.
I
’
m
starting
to
think
of
them
as
irritating
telemarketers
,
always
calling
at
the
most
inopportune
moments
.
What
I
’
m
alarmed
to
find
in
meditation
is
that
my
mind
is
actually
not
that
interesting
a
place
,
after
all
.
In
actuality
I
really
only
think
about
a
few
things
,
and
I
think
about
them
constantly
.
I
believe
the
official
term
is
"
brooding
.
"
I
brood
about
my
divorce
,
and
all
the
pain
of
my
marriage
,
and
all
the
mistakes
I
made
,
and
all
the
mistakes
my
husband
made
,
and
then
(
and
there
’
s
no
return
from
this
dark
topic
)
I
start
brooding
about
David
…
Which
is
getting
embarrassing
,
to
be
quite
honest
.
I
mean
-
here
I
am
in
this
sacred
place
of
study
in
the
middle
of
India
,
and
all
I
can
think
about
is
my
ex
-
boyfriend
?
What
am
I
,
in
eighth
grade
?
