original artwork by camille moser

the autistic boy
& the clay temple

Through the gathering gloom, I barely saw Dan Tse's outline; he sat, attentively watching me approach him. When I could make out his figure, it was sharp enough to reflect a pleasant light, so I bowed and greeted him. After a short pause, he answered my greeting and then became more lively, arousing my curiosity. Our meeting promised to be unusual.

"I'll tell you a story today," he pronounced at last, gazing into my eyes with an air of mystery. I fidgeted with eagerness.

"It will help you to understand the meaning of your dream, because the story and your dream have much in common. But keep in mind that the story doesn't only concern you personally. It also relates to the final aim of our way."

I sat down and made myself comfortable in his dark, small room. I was all ears, and as he related his tale I enlivened his narration with my vivid imagination.

"Once upon a time, in a little village, a quite unusual baby was born," Dan Tse began in his alluding manner. Then, he paused as though collecting his thoughts.

"He could neither see nor hear anything. His nose detected no odor, and his skin was completely devoid of sensitivity. All the people in the village knew that such children were not able to learn to speak, that they had no opportunity to communicate with other people. As a rule, such children didn't survive for a long time. And, if they did, they became a serious burden for their parents."

He paused again. My teacher crossed his hands on his knees and for some minutes plunged into his thoughts, staring with glassy eyes into the space around me.

"His mother was shocked when she discovered her son's illness. She was overcome with despair. Life became meaningless to her—she had dreamt of a son so much.

"But then came a day when a man arrived at her house. He had obviously come from afar, for nobody in the village knew him. He set her mind to rest, assuring her that her baby was quite unusual and that an extraordinary fate awaited him. He gave her advice on how to raise the child—he should be given as much freedom as possible, and he must get a chance to choose his own way no matter how strange this way might seem to other people.

"Nothing else was left for the woman to do, but to follow the stranger's advice. She set about this work with gusto. The old man's words had raised hope in her heart. Like all other mothers in the world, she loved her child and was happy for the glimmer of hope a miracle could provide. She believed the old man had been an unusual visitor and an uncommon man. His visit, then, was an omen.

"Time passed. But, the miracle failed to come to pass. The woman's despair grew each day—the boy was not developing. He didn't have any human qualities, except his outward appearance. Her inner chaos increased when in the company of those around her, who didn't understand why she needed such a burden as her son, and used to say so right to her face. They constantly drove her to tears with their conversations about the son who was only a heavy burden for her, and who was no longer young. Her neighbors weren't wicked, they sincerely wished her to be happy, and so they tried to reason with her. Her emotional torment reached its limit, yet, she continued to raise her son according to to the old man's advice. The boy grew into a young man, but nothing changed in his daily routine. In fact, it was the only senseless game, when he would sit in the yard motionless or making futile movements with his body.

"One day, everything was proceeding as usual. Early in the morning, the mother led her son out to the middle of the yard and set him down on the ground, leaning him against a large heap of clay. The woman didn't notice how the morning shifted to afternoon and the sun mercilessly poured its scorching rays onto the earth, making every living creature take cover in the shade.

"The mother continued with her usual chores. While she was cooking, she took a moment to rest and decided to go look at her son. He still sat under the sun's scorching rays, taking no notice of the terrible heat and showing no signs of life. She didn't bother him, because she knew his skin couldn't feel any pain, because he couldn't feel anything at all. Evening came, and it was time to take the young man in and feed him.

"The woman opened the door, and singing something to herself went out onto the porch. She froze midstep, before she could step down to the yard, as her whole body was shot through by an inhuman impulse. Her heartrending scream broke the silence in the neighborhood.

"In the middle of the yard, a structure towered over everything, graceful and overwhelming in its splendor. It had been fashioned without tools, yet it was decorated so exquisitely, that the human reasoning refused to believe that it was possible to create something so beautiful simply with clay. But the main thought, the inexplicable, crazy thought, was that its creator sat calmly, motionlessly opposite it, as though enjoying his creation.

"The structure resembled a temple in form, and was a miniature copy of some unknown sanctuary from some esoteric religion. At some distance from the main wall, she could see the figure of a man sitting in front of the temple. When the mother recovered from her initial shock, she rushed up to her son and, embracing him, she burst into tears. Then she was about to take him home, but again, like many years ago, the same old man appeared, reminding her of the same words about freedom. But now, he meant the young man's unlimited freedom. In confirmation of his words, he pointed to the temple as an example of the great use of freedom. And with these words, he left the yard.

"The mother decided to follow the old man's advice as before, and so she made her son live separately, though she hardly could imagine how he would do without her. With pain in her soul she doomed her son to loneliness. His only joy now was to be with his creation, when he would sit for hours, meditating about things unknown to others.

"Some more years passed. He was a mature man now, but was still keeping the same way of life. One day he went out into the yard and headed for the temple, stepping unsteadily over the sandy surface of the yard. The blade of a large knife glittered in his hand. It flashed brightly in the sun, casting white patches of light over the sanctuary's clay walls. With both hands, the man gripped the knife handle, and the blade slowly slide across the skin of his stomach. A wound in the form of a cross appeared, from which hot, scarlet blood spurted. Not feeling any pain, the man caught the blood in his cupped palms and poured it over the temple from above, not forgetting to stain with his blood the small statue as well. The clay became red and the temple was transformed, glowing with extraordinary light.

"On seeing her son, the mother suffered the second shock of her life. Her body felt unbearable pain, as though it was she who had those large wounds, from which blood poured in red streams.

"All the villagers came to see the unusual sight, and a perpetual hum from the crowd, expressing the most contradictory feelings, filled the yard for a long time. It grew dark, and then everyone was seized with unbearable horror: the space all around was lit with a glaring red light emanating from the temple. The villagers hid in their houses, leaving the bleeding man in front of the shining temple, which, instead of being made of clay, was formed with large, red jewels. The night passed. . .

"In the morning, when the first rays of the sun shone upon the facets in the jewels that formed the temple, their light turned into a powerful red beam that struck the man's body as he sat in the place he had never left since wounding himself. For a moment, he experienced all the sensations of an ordinary human being; and, on looking at the light and the scene around him, he ignited unexpectedly with the powerful irradiation from the temple and burnt, turning into a heap of ash.

"After these events, the old man returned to calm the mother once again. He explained that her son didn't die, but only became united with that transformative light. Thus, he achieved buddhahood, the state of Buddha, whose temple he had built.

"People in that country knew nothing of Buddhism; it was only after several decades that travellers brought news about this religion."

Dan tse paused, giving me an opportunity to ponder the story. Then, he explained that the main idea was in that very light, seen by the eyes of that man, who had lived such an extraordinary life.

"Our aim is opposite to the meaning of this story," Dan tse suggested before parting. "We try to see the light and everything around us with the eyes of an extraordinary man; we try to annihilate our attitude to everything common and based on human sense. But, this story, told me by my teacher, has three possible endings," Dan Tse continued. "Some people insisted that, in the last minutes of his life, that man laughed when he realized all the imperfections of human perception in the world. And my teacher insisted on that version. Yet, other people believed that he was crying and tears ran down his face. They thought he cried from joy, because his dream had come true and he could see. But, I believe," concluded Dan tse, "that we have no right to support either version. We should keep in mind that he knew neither human laughter nor tears—so he could neither laugh nor cry. To attempt to adapt his perception to the norm is to only guess about his feelings. Yet, this is only one of our mistakes. His mystery died with him."

Here, we parted. I was seized with unbridled rapture. I did not want to leave, I wanted to listen endlessly to Dan tse, who had told me such a marvelous story.

—©1997 illia wamani

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