I met a man on the road to Damascus who told me he had seen God. His experience was so powerful that he pulled his cloak of Christianity tight around his quaking soul. As we walked we met a man headed towards Mecca that told a similar tale whose cloak was fashioned from muslin. They fell to quarreling so I, desiring peace, sat under a Bodhi tree to reflect and detach from the worries of the day. I was raised in a far land with many types of trees but the Ficus Religiosa was unfamiliar to me so I began to sneeze. After trying awhile to recapture the initial sense of peace granted by the shade, I gave up and resumed my quest. Along the way I saw a poor man so I gave him my 30 pieces of silver, then a parched man who I gave my last water. A beggar asked for food so I gave him my loaf of bread. When I came upon a man beaten by the side of the road I tore strips from my robe and bound his wounds.

I felt the cold of night approaching and longed to lay my head down but all around was a barren landscape save for one lone rock. I sat and reflected. I should be cold but was warmed by the memory of the giving of my protective cloak to bind wounds. I should have been thirsty but was content with the remembrance of the parched mans face that shone with gratitude. I should have been hungry but was satisfied knowing the poor man ate. I regretted not the burden of metal coin and so lay down at peace beside my rock and saw God.