Seeker And True Existence

Today, I would like to share with you the wonderful tale written by Jorge Bucay entitled “the researcher”, which invites us to reflect on how to live a more fulfilling life.

This is the story of a person who could be defined as a researcher. Since a researcher is a person doing research and their intention is to find “something”, they should not be the only one to “find”.

Neither is it a person who knows or is aware of what they are looking for. We are simply talking about those for whom life is a beautiful pursuit.

The story begins when one day the researcher felt that he should go to the city of Kammir. He had learned to take into account rigorously these sensations which came from an unknown place. So he dropped everything and left.

After two days of walking on the dusty roads, he saw Kammir from a distance. Shortly before reaching the village, a hill to the right of the path caught his attention. It was covered with a beautiful green carpet and there were lots of trees, birds and beautiful flowers.

Suddenly, the researcher felt that he was forgetting the village and he succumbed to the temptation to rest for a while in this place.

He passed through the portal and began to walk slowly among the white stones that were randomly distributed, through the trees.

On one of the stones he discovered this inscription: “ Abedul Tare, lived 8 years, 6 months, 2 weeks and 3 days .”

He was a little surprised when he realized that this stone was not a simple stone, because it was a tombstone. He felt pain at the thought that such a young child was buried there. ..

Looking around, the man realized that the stone next to it also had an inscription.

He approached the stone on which it read: “ Called Kalib, he lived five years eight months and three weeks .”

The researcher felt terribly shocked. This beautiful place was a cemetery and every stone was a tombstone. All had similar inscriptions: a name and the person’s exact life time.

What brought him in contact with fear was realizing that the one who had lived the longest was barely over 11 years old. Seized by terrible pain, he sat down and began to cry.

The cemetery keeper passed by and approached the young man. He watched him cry in silence for a moment and then he asked him if he was crying for a member of his family.

– No, no family member – said the researcher – What so terrible thing is there in this village? Why are so many dead children buried in this place? What is the horrible curse that hangs over these people, and that forced them to build a children’s cemetery?

The old man smiles and says:

-You can be at ease, there is no such curse. We have an old habit here. When a child turns 15, his parents give him a notebook, like the one I’m carrying here, hanging around my neck.

From there, whenever someone intensely enjoys something, he opens the notebook and writes in it: on the left what he liked, and on the right, how long the pleasure lasted.

Did you meet your girlfriend and fell in love with her? How long did this enormous passion and the pleasure of knowing it last? And the first kiss, how long did it last? What about pregnancy or the birth of the first child? And the most desired trip? And the meeting with the brother who returns from a distant country? How long did these situations last? How many hours? How many days?

We are going to mark each moment in this notebook. When someone dies, it is our custom to open his notebook and add up the time of all the moments he has taken advantage of, to write it on his grave.

For us, the unique and the true time lived, is that from which a person takes full advantage.