There’s a good chance that peo­ple who think about Bud­dhism a lot have already thought of this, but I was med­i­tat­ing the other night while my mind was run­ning wild, and I was look­ing for an image to focus on, to help me clear my mind to fall asleep. I thought of a still pond, the pond I imag­ined while I was read­ing Thoreau’s Walden. For a moment, it was this still and tran­quil scene, serene in silence and motion.

But the activ­ity of my mind quickly over­came it. A slight driz­zle dropped on to the pond, caus­ing small rip­ples in the water. I tried to keep it still and focus on that image, that still image of that still pond, but doing so only made it rain harder. I would yell in my mind, stop! but it would only make the rip­ples big­ger. Some­times I could con­trol it for a sec­ond, but it seemed the longer I could hold the image, the stronger my mind’s defi­ance, bring­ing hail, falling trees, and other kinds of earthly chaos. I man­aged to hold the image in my mind for a good quar­ter minute only to see the pond, and every­thing else around it, dashed away by a good sized mete­orite, appar­ently unre­ported by U.S. satellites.

I since attempted the same exper­i­ment, and depend­ing on my mood, have found it to be more or less dif­fi­cult. The one con­stant is that every time I attempt it, my breath­ing stead­ies, my mind clears, and I feel bet­ter. But only after a few brief moments of plan­e­tary destruction.

Brent was worldly to some, espe­cially those less worldly to him. Europe was a friend at times and he’d trav­eled through many of the States with more than a keen eye. But he didn’t take advan­tage of this in any spe­cial sense, nor did he elab­o­rate his world­li­ness to ben­e­fit his sta­tus. He existed merely as worldly as he was.

At times though, peo­ple sensed that he wasn’t sure quite how worldly he needed to be. He was per­plexed when faced with train ticket machines in unfa­mil­iar lan­guages. At times, he was even hes­i­tant to ask for help, more out a fear of shame than a loss of face. He knew that there were cer­tain eclec­tic tem­pos one should appre­ci­ate in night­clubs and lounges, but he didn’t know why. He wanted to achieve the casual mind­set that beset the great­est of sophistications.

The only store open when he reached the air­port was a small con­ve­nience store. He bought some water and a news­pa­per and sat at the open seat­ing out­side the shop.

Her suit was sharp and demand­ing, and the frames of her glasses were a strong grey. The hair drap­ing over her eyes as revealed an eager con­cen­tra­tion. She sat, sip­ping a cof­fee, read­ing a book.

“Sprechen Sie Englisch?”

“Yes, a bit.”

“Do you mind if I sit?”

“No, no, I am just reading.”

“Are you on business?”

“I just fin­ished. I’m going home to Berlin.”

“Oh, I love Berlin; there’s always some­thing to do.”

“Ah, you’ve been?”

“Well, just once. But I had an amaz­ing time. I was on busi­ness and some friends at I spent a few nights out. The music, the drinks, every­thing about the city felt like it was alive, there was just so much energy. It’s so dif­fi­cult to find places like that in the States, except for the big­ger cities.”

“You travel a lot?”

“A bit.”

“I travel a bit myself. I go round Europe, and sit in meet­ings. I’m a, ah, trans­la­tor, yes.”

“Wow. What kinds of meet­ings do you translate?”

“Ah, mostly busi­ness meet­ings I know noth­ing about; I stay for a few weeks at a time for a busi­ness, while they fin­ish with busi­ness part­ners, and then I move on. You know, spend a few nights out with friends with music, drinks, feel like I’m alive…”

They shared a moment of laugh­ter, and sipped silently.

“That must be great to see so much of Europe. I always want to travel more, see more of the world. It just seems like there’s so much to learn and know, so many peo­ple to meet.”

“Ah yes, I know. I spend a lot of time, meet­ing peo­ple, friends, going out—sometimes it is a lot of work.”

“Exactly. I’m not sure I know how to do it. Some­times I think i do, and then I’ll real­ize how lit­tle I know and how lit­tle I’ve seen.”

He shifted his drink and she rested her book on the table.

“You know, my grandmother—she is this old Ger­man woman—she told me some­thing when I left for uni­ver­sity that I some­times remem­ber. She said that, what is impor­tant now may change. 

You know, some­times I feel like being—social, yes, being extra social, is not always worth the time. Some­times I want to have just some good friends instead of just know­ing many peo­ple. Do you…”

She could see his face change, his gaze drift­ing off.

“I…I think I do. I think you mean that one con­ver­sa­tion like this is worth more than twenty at a bar.”

“Yes, that.”

She looked down at her cof­fee, and he watched her fin­gers gen­tly turn the cup. Beneath the droop­ing bangs, he could see the cor­ner of her smile.

“Do you want to go for a walk? I mean, not to any­where spe­cific, just a walk around?”

“I would like that.”