The Journey to Find Oneself

A wise person of great renown lived in an isolated cave at the top of a mountain; the cave was lit with blue and violet candles, and the walls were adorned with murals of the wise person’s journeys. There, vi meditated and copied out the texts of vir travels to one day share with others upon the eve of vir death.   One day, a young adult, short of stature with deep brown skin and golden-brown eyes entered the cave. They wore white robes with black slacks, a sharp contrast to the bright colors of the murals. “Oh, wise one,” the young one said. “I come to seek wisdom.”   “For what do you seek?” The wise one put down vir writing utensil and gestured for the young one to sit on a nearby rock. “Wisdom has many arenas.”   “I seek knowledge on how to understand oneself enough to live a good life and living up to my potential. You see, my coming of age is soon, but I still don’t know what to do with my life! Or what is best or even where I ought to live. There’s just too much to decide. Where do I start?”   The wise one steepled vir fingers and gazed at the earnest young one. “It is simple. Do these three things, and the knowledge will be found.   “First, exist as oneself.   “Second, Seek the truth of oneself,   “Third, become oneself.   “Now go and live a good life.”     The young one traveled down the mountain toward their home village in confusion. How does one exist, seek, and become oneself at the same time? How would one know what the truth was? The wise one had given them more riddles. Frustrated, the young one traveled to the center of their home village, where the elders and youngest gathered during the mornings and evenings.   “Oh, elders, may I ask a question or two?” the young one said upon approach.   “Always!” The elders were always eager to share tales and bits of wisdom. They often taught the children between their playtimes and midday naps.   “How does one seek the truth of oneself? But yet also exist as oneself? And become oneself?”   The oldest of the elders leaned forward against his cane. “Ah, the wisdom of the mountain. Why, you must listen to the stories of others. Then the truth will reveal itself.”   The elder with a big bushy beard laughed. “Onye, that is generic! No, you must travel the world, meet many people, and learn ways of being from as many diverse places as you can. That act of seeking often reveals truths that help you become your highest self.”   The smallest elder smiled. “All of you are full of hot air. Meditation and listening to your emotions and body’s needs and wants will reveal the truth.”   All of these ideas only confused the young one further. So they thanked the elders for their wisdom. As the young one reached the edge of the village commons, a young child, only seven years of age, grasped their robe. “Onye,” the child said, “I think you find yourself by being alive. I am alive. I am me. Isn’t that all we need?”   The young one ruffled the child’s hair. “That is a good point too. Thank you, little one.” They pulled out some of their foodstuff and extracted a bit of chocolate. “Here, for your wisdom.” The child grinned and thanked them.   So the young one decided the best action was to do all the suggestions. First they would travel and listen to the stories of others. They would write down what they saw and heard. Then they would meditate and listen to their own body, mind, soul, and emotions. See what they had to say, and write it down. Finally, they would return home and share their stories. To see what others thought then.   Having decided, the young one started their journey. They walked with a tall stick and a pack of clothes, food, and writing supplies. Through valleys of lush foliage and flowing rivers, past great gushing waterfalls, up the rigorous, winding mountain paths, and through the sandy, treacherous deserts, to the great marshes by the mouths of the rivers and start of the sea.   Many people of many skin colors, religions, cultures had shared tales of great heroism, tales of sorrow, tales of pride, tales of war, tales of anger, tales of revenge, tales of forgiveness. The young one, now in their early adult years, had written the tales down faithfully. They had found that listening and writing brought them much joy, so they rested by the seashore, meditated on their journeys, and finished writing down the tales from their jumbled notes. As they rested, they took time to listen to their body and mind and soul and emotions.   Each flowed with sensations and emotive character; each held a wealth of wonder; and each reminded the young adult that being alive is quite the miracle.   Yet, one question troubled the young adult - how does one become oneself? Was the stories they found the truth of oneself? And if so, how does one forge those into becoming? What was the connection?   So the young adult entered the seaside town and asked a fisherperson. The person sat on the edge of a dock, holding their pole languidly. “Onye, I seek the truth of myself. But I am troubled by how I find this truth and forge it into becoming oneself.”   The fisherperson studied the young adult and their travel worn robes and bulging back-pack. “You are a traveler?” At their nod, the fisherperson continued. “Truth is a spectrum. There are some truths that are solid as us.” The fisherperson knocked their knuckles against the wood of the dock. “This is wood. You and I can both agree on that, right?”   Again, once they nodded, the fisherperson continued. “And we both know that the sea is salt water. And the sky has air. And this planet provides us food and ingredients for shelter. That’s all real. That’s one truth. Then there’s a slew of other truths. Our truthtelling in relationships. Our building community truths. Our truths about our health and mind. Our soul truths.” The fisherperson tugged on their line and shrugged. “There’s lots of others, but those are the ones I know.”   “That is wisdom. Thank you.” The young adult was amazed and paused to consider these truths. “Yet, how do I know which ones help me become?”   “Become what?” The fisherperson scratched their head. “You wish to become someone else? Why not just be yourself?”   “The wise one of the mountain told me this.” And the young adult shared the three axioms.   “Huh. Seems you need clarification. Go ask the wise one what become means. For me, I can’t become if I don’t know what I am becoming toward. And honestly, I am fine as existing as me. Wouldn’t that be enough?”   The fisherperson’s words haunted the young adult, so they thanked them with some food. Then headed back toward home and the wise one’s mountain. The journey was long and arduous as the seasons had changed and the weather was volatile. Many times, the young adult had to rest in a farmer’s barn or a village’s commons during the worst of the storms. They despaired of ever finding the truth of oneself and how to become.   A particularly deadly storm ravaged a desert town, the sand tornadoes destroying homes. The young adult paused in their journey to help rebuild. The people rejoiced at the help and knowledge the young one offered, gained from their many travels. The homes were built more solid, more durable using fire and earth. The young adult grew older, and stayed for quite a few years among the sand people. There they aided in rebuilding community, and it was a good time, one of hope and healing.   But the lure to know oneself, to become, to seek the truth pulled them away and back toward the homeland of their youth. They felt weathered and tired, their joints aching, and their skin wind burnt and sun darkened. Up the mountain, they climbed, until they stumbled, exhausted, into the wise one’s cave.   The wise one had been painting more of vir mural. So paused to contemplate the adult. “You have returned.”   “Yes, wise one. I seek clarification. What do you mean by become? How do I seek the truth and exist and become all at once?”   The wise one sat down. “Tell me of your journey first. Then I will answer.”   So the adult shared of their travels. Shared the stories they heard, the wisdom people parted, and the ways they helped others. The tales grew long, night came, and the candles were lit one by one by the two of them together. In the warmth of a fire, the adult finished their long story.   The wise one sat in silence. Vir big pot of stew nestled in the coals of the fire, and vi quietly gathered bowls and spooned big servings for the adult and virself. As they ate, each time the adult tried to ask a question, the wise one held up vir hand and gestured to the food. So they ate in silence.   Finally, the wise one put away the bowl and drank deeply from the water gourd. “Your tales are great and wide. Full of life and diversity. You have lived well and have much more life to live well.”   The adult looked confused. “But I did not do as you said.”   The wise one smiled. “Oh but you did. When you listened the other people’s stories and wisdom, you existed as yourself, for it is in our actions and words that we exist. When you meditated on your own needs and met them, you both existed as yourself and sought the truth of yourself, for it is in taking care of ourself that we gain energy to act and share. When you asked questions and were open to the answers, you sought the truth of yourself, for it is in inclusion and learning that we grow. That openness to learning, that willingness to seek, that ability to change and meet the needs of yourself and others? That is how one becomes. You have done well, and there is still much more for you to live.”   The adult was amazed. “I failed to see the connection until now. How can I ever thank you?”   “Go and share with others what you’ve learned. And continue to live a good life.” The wise one waved a farewell and returned to their mural - an image of the young one who sought to live a good life.