boots.
"Here," he said. "Come do it."
I saw it with my eyes. It was possible, obviously, because there he stood, so I walked out to join him. It felt like walking on clear blue linoleum, and I laughed.
"Donald, what are you doing to me?"
"I am merely showing you what everybody learns, sooner or later," he said, "and you're handy now."
"But I'm . . ."
"Look. The water can be solid," he stamped his foot and the sound was leather on rock, "or not." He stamped again and water splashed over us both. "Got the feel of that? Try it."
How quickly we get used to miracles! In less than a minute I began to think that walking on water is possible, is natural, is . . . well, so what?
"But if the water is solid now, how can we drink it?"
"Same way we walk on it, Richard. It isn't solid, and it isn't liquid. You and I decide what it's going to be for us. If you want water to be liquid, think it liquid, act as if it's liquid, drink it. If you want it to be air, act as if it's air, breathe it. Try."
Maybe it's something about the presence of an advanced soul, I thought. Maybe these things are allowed to happen in a certain radius, fifty feet in a circle around them . . .
I knelt on the surface and dipped my hand into the pond. Liquid. Then I lay down and put my face into the blue of it and breathed, trusting. It breathed like warm liquid oxygen, no choking or gasping. I sat up and looked a question at him, expecting him to know what was in my mind.
"Speak," he said.
"Why do I have to speak?"
"For what you have to say, it's more precise to talk in words. Speak."
"If we can walk on water, and breathe it and drink it, why can't we do the same to land?"
"Yes. Good. You will notice . . . "
He walked to the shore easily as walking a painted lake. But when his feet touched the ground, the sand and grass at the edge, he began to sink, until with a few slow steps he was up to his shoulders in earth and grass. It was as though the pond had suddenly become an island, and the land about had turned to sea. He swam for a moment in the pasture, splashing it about him in dark loam drops, then floated on top of it, then rose and walked on it. It was suddenly miraculous to see a man walking on the ground!
I stood on the pond and applauded his performance. He bowed, and applauded mine.
I walked to the edge of the pond, thought the earth to liquid and touched it with my toe. Ripples spread into the grass in rings. How deep is the ground ? I nearly asked aloud. The ground will be as deep as I think it will be. Two feet deep, I thought, it will be two feet deep, and I'll wade.
I stepped confidently into the shore and sank over my head, an instant drop off. It was black underground, scary, and I fought to the surface, holding my breath, flailing out for some solid water, for the edge of the pond to hold on to.
He sat on the grass and laughed.
"You are a remarkable student, do you know that?"
"I ain't no student at all! Get me out of here!"
"Get yourself out."
I stopped struggling. I see it. solid and I can climb right out. I see it solid...and I climbed out, caked and crusted in black dirt.
"Man you really get dirty doing this!"
His own blue shirt and jeans were without spot or mote of dust.
"Aaaa!" I shook the dirt out of my hair, flapped it out of
"Here," he said. "Come do it."
I saw it with my eyes. It was possible, obviously, because there he stood, so I walked out to join him. It felt like walking on clear blue linoleum, and I laughed.
"Donald, what are you doing to me?"
"I am merely showing you what everybody learns, sooner or later," he said, "and you're handy now."
"But I'm . . ."
"Look. The water can be solid," he stamped his foot and the sound was leather on rock, "or not." He stamped again and water splashed over us both. "Got the feel of that? Try it."
How quickly we get used to miracles! In less than a minute I began to think that walking on water is possible, is natural, is . . . well, so what?
"But if the water is solid now, how can we drink it?"
"Same way we walk on it, Richard. It isn't solid, and it isn't liquid. You and I decide what it's going to be for us. If you want water to be liquid, think it liquid, act as if it's liquid, drink it. If you want it to be air, act as if it's air, breathe it. Try."
Maybe it's something about the presence of an advanced soul, I thought. Maybe these things are allowed to happen in a certain radius, fifty feet in a circle around them . . .
I knelt on the surface and dipped my hand into the pond. Liquid. Then I lay down and put my face into the blue of it and breathed, trusting. It breathed like warm liquid oxygen, no choking or gasping. I sat up and looked a question at him, expecting him to know what was in my mind.
"Speak," he said.
"Why do I have to speak?"
"For what you have to say, it's more precise to talk in words. Speak."
"If we can walk on water, and breathe it and drink it, why can't we do the same to land?"
"Yes. Good. You will notice . . . "
He walked to the shore easily as walking a painted lake. But when his feet touched the ground, the sand and grass at the edge, he began to sink, until with a few slow steps he was up to his shoulders in earth and grass. It was as though the pond had suddenly become an island, and the land about had turned to sea. He swam for a moment in the pasture, splashing it about him in dark loam drops, then floated on top of it, then rose and walked on it. It was suddenly miraculous to see a man walking on the ground!
I stood on the pond and applauded his performance. He bowed, and applauded mine.
I walked to the edge of the pond, thought the earth to liquid and touched it with my toe. Ripples spread into the grass in rings. How deep is the ground ? I nearly asked aloud. The ground will be as deep as I think it will be. Two feet deep, I thought, it will be two feet deep, and I'll wade.
I stepped confidently into the shore and sank over my head, an instant drop off. It was black underground, scary, and I fought to the surface, holding my breath, flailing out for some solid water, for the edge of the pond to hold on to.
He sat on the grass and laughed.
"You are a remarkable student, do you know that?"
"I ain't no student at all! Get me out of here!"
"Get yourself out."
I stopped struggling. I see it. solid and I can climb right out. I see it solid...and I climbed out, caked and crusted in black dirt.
"Man you really get dirty doing this!"
His own blue shirt and jeans were without spot or mote of dust.
"Aaaa!" I shook the dirt out of my hair, flapped it out of
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