I said you had to do it. You said you didn't want to. We talked about it, and we agreed that maybe I could help.
I said you were wrong. You insisted you were right. We held each other's hand, and right and wrong disappeared. I began crying. You began crying too. We embraced, and between us grew a flower of peace.
How I love this mystery called We! Where does it come from, out of thin air? I thought about this mystery, and realised something; We must be love's favourite child, because until I reach out for you, We is not even there. It arrives on the wings of tenderness; it speaks through our silent understanding. When I laugh at myself, it smiles. When I forgive you, it dances in jubilation.
So when We is not a choice anymore, not if you and I want to grow with one another. We unites us, increases our strength; it picks up our burden when you and I are ready to let it fall. The truth is that you and I would have given up long ago, but We won't let us. It is too wise. "Look into your hearts," it says. "What do you see? Not you and I, but only We.
He had lived in the desert all his life, but for me it was all new. "See that footprint in the sand?" he asked, pointing to a spot by the cliff. I looked as close as I could see. "No, I don't see anything." "That's just the point" he laughed. "Where you can't see a print, that's where the Ancient Ones walked."
We went on a little farther, and he pointed to an opening, high up on the sandstone wall. "See that house up there?" he asked. I squinted hard. "There's nothing to see." "You're a good student, " he smiled. "Where there's no roof or chimney, that's where the Ancient Ones are most likely to have lived."
We rounded a bend, and before us was spread a fabulous sight-thousands upon thousands of desert flowers in bloom. "Can you see any missing?" he asked me. I shook my head. "It's just wave after wave of loveliness." "Yes" he said in a low voice. "Where nothing is missing, that's where the Ancient Ones harvested the most."
I thought about all this, about how generations once lived in harmony with the earth, leaving no marks to scar the places they inhabited. At camp that night I said, "You left out one thing." "What's that?" he asked. "Where are the Ancient Ones buried?"
Without reply, he poked his stick into the fire. A bright flame shot up, licked the air, and disappeared. My teacher gave me a glance to ask if I understood this lesson. I sat very still. and my silence told him I did.