by Mark Schumacher

Another routine day for me. Off for a walk in the park, the sky shining blue. 

Black Swan Event. A giant gathering of sparrows attracts my attraction. Hundreds of birds in one tree, chirping in unorchestrated union. Never before seen or heard by these eyes and these ears attached to this brain — which is nearly 62 years old. 

Distracted and curious, I mimic their song with my mouth. They remain united, they remain calm, they remain a flock. But then I start to sing in human voice. The flock flies away in frenzied panic. 

Much enchanted by the encounter, the routine walk resumes with a newfound bemusement of life at all levels. Along the path another Black Swan Event. An old man, perhaps 95, slumped on the pavement, breathing heavily, groaning in pain, shoes off his feet. 

Daijōbu desu ka (Are you all right?), I ask. He does not respond. I ask again, louder this time. He does not respond nor acknowledge my presence. I wait and watch. Slowly, he gets back on his feet, struggles forward another ten meters, then stops, slumps, groans, and heaves. I notice a stack of nengajo 年賀状 (Japanese new-year greeting postcards) clutched in his hands. Ah, it makes sense now. This aged man was hell bent on walking, under his own power, to the neighborhood post office – located at the bottom of a steep hill – to buy new-year greeting cards to send his friends. He was also dead set on walking back up the hill. His new-year resolution was obvious: “If I can’t even walk to the post office, why go on living?” 

Two Japanese women stroll by without paying notice. I interrupt them. “Do you know this person?” They respond: “No, we don’t know him.” But at least they stop to ask the old man Daijōbu desu ka?  When he doesn’t respond, they look at me with eyes saying “What should we do?” 

“OK, you go home, I’ll look after him,” I murmur. More waiting and watching. He eventually regains his energy and continues to stumble up the hill. My heart (my soul) is now part of the gambit. I am RESPONSIBLE for this old man struggling up a hill. My tears fell in torrents. This is me in thirty more years. 

Another man, about my age, came walking down the hill at that time, saw the old man, and asked: Daijōbu desu ka. He and I contacted, eye to eye, and we both understood instantly. 

LET’S TAKE HIM HOME. So we carried him, arm under arm, with him leading the way, and he knew (the old man knew, he remembered) his address and how to get there. His wife and daughter were standing outside in the open street, looking around frantically for him. 

“Here we are,” I said, as I helped him climb the steps to his house. Rejoice. We are home, we have arrived.

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Mark is the creator of the much-used A-Z Photo Dictionary of Japanese Buddhist and Shinto Deities