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Authors: Chris Collins
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would be saving
lives this way. Yes, he thought. Then he said softly,
" Easy. "
His considerations then included the wind coming in from the
east. It traveled at about five kilometers per hour. He felt its sudden change of
direction. It occurred to him this quick-change artist had been
sent to aid him.
More likely, he well knew, was that the wind had arrived to plague
or even stop him.
Nicolas chose not to oppose the idea of
sending his drive in to the lake. He felt relieved after deciding. He asked his self if he
should use his 3-wood or his 3-iron. One feeling rose suggesting he
use neither. That sense forwarded some. It raced down to his awaiting-production
hands that did just that. And the reason his little grippers
m ay have given for the
hold up, if able, would likely have been of the nature-loving kind.
He told himself, Nothing is ever
permanent.
Nicolas went to put back his driver. He set
aside his jacket that lay on top. He returned the club to his
grouped-up set or perceived dud kit. He thought of his forthcoming offense against life. Nicolas yanked from his
pack the 3-wood he called Little Benefit. The club was his chosen candidate to avoid all
flower destruction.
His choice appeared final. The expression on
his hardened face
suggested a landmark judgment had just been handed d own from the High Court, after 10 years of waiting.
11
"Here you should not look for shortcuts,"
Arjuna advised. "Nor should you seek ladders to step easily onto
some top, as the priority here is to participate. Whether upon peak
or fair open valley you should not be in any mad rush to ape others
who have come to this place."
The old man took in a breath. He considered
what more to add . He said, "Now's the time
to create for yourself, and for All That Is because at very essence you are alone
here."
He felt confused. I am alone here? Nicolas asked himself. It occurred
to him that he might avoid all unnecessary heat by just staying quiet. He thought to
step up and take a whack at it short and sweet.
Yet he was going nowhere. He looked at the
ball put up on display. The round one seemed to be resting atop the
blue tee comfortably. The
ball looked like a standing monument highlighting his
inactivity.
Nicolas needed help saying Yes! to it. His
mind remained uncertain. He
hesitated more. He could not hit or cremate this body of a
ball until he received word or had gotten the green signal. He
wished to be free of these heavy-as-iron 18 holes, linked
each-to-each, which felt
clasped around his prisoner's legs. Nicolas Kumar looked forward to being free of these
manacles.
He peered at the lake. The lake was known to
village locals, domestic tourists, the legions of pilgrims who
visit barefoot annually, as The Protector of the Masses. The
Protector of the Masses Lake lay well in range of his trusty 3-wood. He thought to consign his drive
there. He felt clever in thinking he could hit it into the water
hazard and therefore waste it.
Nicolas said aloud so this guide could hear it,
"Never have I felt so bad on a course."
Not one word came back from Arjuna. As he had hoped to come out
of this with clean hands, Nicolas Kumar decided to send his drive into the lake or
catchment area. He felt
it worthwhile to incur the what-the-hell penalty, and do so whether
this good teacher liked it or not.
Yes , I believe I will, he thought, reaffirming his
choice .And he pointed
down the flower fairway to the lake.
Nicolas told the old man , "As I want moksha for myself I'll play
for it to go there and hope for divine charity. This is just so my
soul won't forever be cussing me."
Arjuna offered nothing by way of a returning
comment. This puzzled young Nicolas. He believed this teacher could
not possibly be lost for words.
He threw Arjuna a glance. Nicolas discovered t he old man was looking low and that his head
was downcast. He saw t hat Arjuna was smiling slightly . To
lives this way. Yes, he thought. Then he said softly,
" Easy. "
His considerations then included the wind coming in from the
east. It traveled at about five kilometers per hour. He felt its sudden change of
direction. It occurred to him this quick-change artist had been
sent to aid him.
More likely, he well knew, was that the wind had arrived to plague
or even stop him.
Nicolas chose not to oppose the idea of
sending his drive in to the lake. He felt relieved after deciding. He asked his self if he
should use his 3-wood or his 3-iron. One feeling rose suggesting he
use neither. That sense forwarded some. It raced down to his awaiting-production
hands that did just that. And the reason his little grippers
m ay have given for the
hold up, if able, would likely have been of the nature-loving kind.
He told himself, Nothing is ever
permanent.
Nicolas went to put back his driver. He set
aside his jacket that lay on top. He returned the club to his
grouped-up set or perceived dud kit. He thought of his forthcoming offense against life. Nicolas yanked from his
pack the 3-wood he called Little Benefit. The club was his chosen candidate to avoid all
flower destruction.
His choice appeared final. The expression on
his hardened face
suggested a landmark judgment had just been handed d own from the High Court, after 10 years of waiting.
11
"Here you should not look for shortcuts,"
Arjuna advised. "Nor should you seek ladders to step easily onto
some top, as the priority here is to participate. Whether upon peak
or fair open valley you should not be in any mad rush to ape others
who have come to this place."
The old man took in a breath. He considered
what more to add . He said, "Now's the time
to create for yourself, and for All That Is because at very essence you are alone
here."
He felt confused. I am alone here? Nicolas asked himself. It occurred
to him that he might avoid all unnecessary heat by just staying quiet. He thought to
step up and take a whack at it short and sweet.
Yet he was going nowhere. He looked at the
ball put up on display. The round one seemed to be resting atop the
blue tee comfortably. The
ball looked like a standing monument highlighting his
inactivity.
Nicolas needed help saying Yes! to it. His
mind remained uncertain. He
hesitated more. He could not hit or cremate this body of a
ball until he received word or had gotten the green signal. He
wished to be free of these heavy-as-iron 18 holes, linked
each-to-each, which felt
clasped around his prisoner's legs. Nicolas Kumar looked forward to being free of these
manacles.
He peered at the lake. The lake was known to
village locals, domestic tourists, the legions of pilgrims who
visit barefoot annually, as The Protector of the Masses. The
Protector of the Masses Lake lay well in range of his trusty 3-wood. He thought to consign his drive
there. He felt clever in thinking he could hit it into the water
hazard and therefore waste it.
Nicolas said aloud so this guide could hear it,
"Never have I felt so bad on a course."
Not one word came back from Arjuna. As he had hoped to come out
of this with clean hands, Nicolas Kumar decided to send his drive into the lake or
catchment area. He felt
it worthwhile to incur the what-the-hell penalty, and do so whether
this good teacher liked it or not.
Yes , I believe I will, he thought, reaffirming his
choice .And he pointed
down the flower fairway to the lake.
Nicolas told the old man , "As I want moksha for myself I'll play
for it to go there and hope for divine charity. This is just so my
soul won't forever be cussing me."
Arjuna offered nothing by way of a returning
comment. This puzzled young Nicolas. He believed this teacher could
not possibly be lost for words.
He threw Arjuna a glance. Nicolas discovered t he old man was looking low and that his head
was downcast. He saw t hat Arjuna was smiling slightly . To
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