The Forgotten History of the Human Race—Part Three

Flacko and his buddy Nacho were two of several teenagers in the village. But unlike the others, these two had a reputation for rarely doing as they were told. They pondered during work-time and raided the dessert cave during the village ponder. 

And because they’d been born in the village as opposed to the wild, the elder members of the community were forever fed up with the both of them. "You don’t know how it used to be!” the elders would lament. “We used to have to sleep on a different boulder every night! Sometimes walk five miles just for a single berry!"

"Jeeze dad,” Flacko would roll his eyes. “It’s not my fault you guys didn’t know what you were doing."

"Just… please… try to at least extend some modicum of appreciation and do what you’re told."

But the boys didn’t understand what there was too appreciate. They couldn’t. It was too far removed from their reality. 

And so that night, they snuck out of their caves and walked past the outskirts of the village into the woods. 

"Imagine," Flacko scoffed, "thinking the Great Wind is angry. These people ponder like fools."

The two walked to their favorite rock besides the roaring stream and were silent for some time.

"Friend?"  Flacko said.

"Yes, Flacko?" said Nacho.

"I dare say, the Great Wind has just blown something quite interesting inside my flesh sack."

"Do share."

"I know… I know the answer to everyone’s pondering! I know why we are here!"

"Why, friend?"

"Nacho, we are here… by accident! The Great Wind has not given us gifts, we have merely found them, by accident!"

"Oh boy, your dad is not going to like this one bit."

The next night, at the town meeting, the Village Elder stood in front of his villagers,

and asked what answers everyone had received from the Great Wind. 

But there was only silence. 

"Nobody?  The Great Wind spoke to nobody?"

Then Flacko, the skinny teenager, cleared his throat. 

"Flacko, please, this is no time for goatplay."

"Elder, forgive me, but though I am a prankster at heart, I happen to also be, a master ponderer."

"What do you mean, Son."

"What I mean is, I know why we are here."

All the villagers gasped and turned to look at Flacko, including two of the eldest women in the village who pivoted their heads so quickly, the lose skin from their jowls batted them in their faces.

"The Great Wind is not angry with any of you," Flacko announced. "The Great Wind cannot be angry because the Great Wind is nothing but the Great Wind. 

When I stepped on an ant today, do you think the ant went home and cowered with his fellow ants at a town meeting praying for forgiveness from the Great Foot?"

Nacho laughed and slapped his knee.

"That’s enough, Flacko. What is your point?"

"The point is, I believe the reason we are here, is because of an accident."

The villagers gasped once again.

"What are you saying, boy?"

"Please. There’s no need to get upset. An accident is merely a circumstance blown into existence by the Great Wind, colliding with another circumstance blown into existence by the Great Wind. And everything which exists in the universe, or at least on this planet, is the consequence of the Great Wind!

It’s like the apple tree that first grew in the village crap pile. That was an accident, right? But from that accident, we learned how to plant an orchard. When you repeat an accident, it’s no longer an accident, it’s on purpose. It’s deliberate. 

And as soon as an accident is repeated deliberately—it takes on a life of its own. And this life wants to survive—it doesn’t realize it’s an accident. On the contrary, it takes itself quite seriously. Take the case of ourselves: As soon as we realized we were alive, we wanted to survive. And so when we found things to eat and realized it kept us alive, we repeated these actions again and again and look at us now!  We are nothing but the consequence of repeated accidents."

The villagers stirred with agitation.

"Based on my pondering, there are two types of accidents which the Great Wind delivers: Favorable accidents, which cause people to feel lucky, as if they’ve received some great gift they should be thankful for. And unfavorable accidents, which cause people to raise both hands toward the sky and shout, “Why me Great Wind, what on earth have I done to deserve this?” 

With each type of accident, favorable or unfavorable, the person assumes that what is happening, is happening to them, and this tends to generate a series of reactions inside the person, ranging from very pleasant to excruciatingly unpleasant, and the person then decides, based on their experience of these reactions, what this means about themselves, their lives and even the world. And these meanings, when they are threaded over time, through multiple circumstances, create what we have come to call, reality. 

But here’s the interesting part: For a human to perceive an accident, they need what’s called an Attention. And every human seems to be born with one. And it’s the purpose of our Attention to focus on accidents to decide whether they’re favorable or unfavorable for our survival.  

But what happens when the Attention has nothing to focus on?  Well, I’ll tell you. It loses its purpose and just gets blown around by the Great Wind till it gives up and disintegrates. Just like this little leaf here. It has nothing to anchor to, so it gets caught in the draft of the Great Wind. And sometimes it’s blown, and sometimes its left alone, but it’s fate is clear: The little leaf has no say what happens to it. Perhaps the little leaf is confused and it wonders, what’s wrong. Something is wrong. What am I doing here?

Well, that’s exactly what has happened to us. For the first time in our history, we have lost our original purpose. We are no longer anchored by having to run around all day to survive. We have everything we need, and yet, nothing is happening. And because we have nothing to focus on, our Attention is frustrated and it’s frantically looking for something to focus on so it can survive."

"Did the Great Wind tell you this?" asked one of the villagers.

"In a manner of speaking. I figured this out when our Elder asked us to ponder with the purpose of asking the Great Wind for help. When I focused my Attention on this purpose, my Attention was engaged, and I realized I was anchored once again. And being anchored, I realized the reason we have come down with this virus is because we have lost our original purpose. And that in order to cure ourselves, we need to invent a new purpose for our Attentions to focus on in order to survive in this new frontier. With deliberation, we can create our own purpose for being here!"

 Many of the villagers clapped, but many others still looked perplexed.

"But what kind of purpose will we have," one of the villagers shouted.

"Whatever purpose you want."

"Will it cause suffering?"

"If you get to pick out your purpose, Dear Sir, I would hope you’d pick something that wouldn't cause suffering."

"Well, boy, tell us what kind of purpose you’re talking about!"

"Well, for starter, how about we learn to survive better? Surely there are advancements we could make if we put our attentions on it."

No one said a word, and so Flacko shrugged and sat down.

"Thank you Flacko," the village Elder continued. "Thank you for your wisdom. I am as surprised as I am enlightened. 

Tonight, my fellow villagers, I request that you ponder what Flacko has discovered, and practice accessing your attentions in the privacy of your own caves. Just as the Great Wind blows through the land, it seems to also blow beneath our flesh sacks. So if you find a treasure, grab onto it deliberately and find a way to make whatever you have found your purpose to better our community."

That night, the villagers pondered deliberately in their caves, and one by one, began to find their new purposes. 

One woman decided she would make it her purpose to keep all aspects of the village clean. 

Another, who was always cold during ponder sessions decided to make it his purpose to sew blankets for all the villagers so that no one would ever feel cold during town meetings again.

Another, whose son was always coming down with some sickness or another, made it her purpose to prevent illness by learning to communicate with the insides of flesh sacks, and invented the world's first herbal tincture.

And the Village Elder appointed Flacko with his purpose: to be the town’s problem solver, a post which unfortunately rarely exists in today’s societies. 

Over the next several weeks, sanity in the village resumed. The villagers’ attentions became anchored once again, but this time, to their self-proclaimed purposes. 

Well, all the villagers except for one: A young man named Donald.

Donald was around the same age as Flacko, but but other than that, the two had nothing in common. Where Flacko was tall, Donald was small. Where Flacko was fast, Donald was slow. Where the great wind blew fiercely through Flacko’s mind during village ponders, the great wind lingered stagnant and thick in Donald’s. 

In fact, Donald’s ponders could last days without yielding anything in particular. And he often pondered while walking or doing chores without paying attention to where he was going until he tripped and stumbled, invariably into someone else in the middle of their own purpose.

“Donald! Wake up! You must watch where you’re going. You’re like a great wind all unto yourself!”

“A not so great wind,” another muttered.

“A wind from the wrong end,” muttered yet another.

Donald grew more and more frustrated, because he very much wanted a purpose. He very much wanted to make a positive difference and be celebrated like the rest of the villagers. And he couldn’t understand why he couldn’t find one.

Maybe it was because every time he tried to ponder for his purpose, he would be interrupted by the sounds of villagers rejoicing upon finding their own purposes. 

And each time this happened, Donald fell deeper into despair, certain he would never find his.

And the deeper into despair he fell, it was as if the great wind matched it by blowing in more despair.

To celebrate the villagers’ new purposes, the elders organized their first ever celebratory event where every villager would get to announce their self-chosen purpose in front of the entire community and receive a boulder of approval. 

Upon hearing this news, Donald’s search for a purpose grew more and more frantic. But soon there were just a few more hours left before the big celebration. And Donald still had not found one. 

He sat in his cave twiddling his thumbs, panicking about the moment he would be asked what his purpose was and how he would have nothing to say. He would be purposeless. And the whole village would know. 

He considered asking one of the elders for support but he didn’t, out of fear of being looked down upon and judged. 

An hour before the big event, he decided to make one last attempt to find his purpose. Big or small, it no longer mattered to him.

He wandered around the grounds. When suddenly, he heard something in the brush.

Donald grew excited. Maybe, he thought, finally, at long last, it’s a gift from the Great Wind! Just in the nick of time!

But when he peered in, he suddenly found himself eye-to-eye with a porcupine. And before he had time to get away, Donald was quilled.

Donald screamed and several villagers ran over to see what the problem was. 

Thankfully the Villager Healer was one of them and ushered Donald immediately to her healing cave.

But even with the quills removed, Donald remained purposeless. 

And just as expected, that night at the village celebration, when it was Donald’s turn to declare his purpose, amidst his awkward stumbling, Flacko interrupted. “Please, Donald. Allow me to assist: Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you—the Village Quill Cushion!”

The villagers laughed riotously and Donald’s face turned bright red.

“Now, now Flacko,” said the Village Elder. “It is part of your purpose, of everybody’s purpose, to also embody the values of our community. To revere and encourage each other’s potential and never shame someone for being where they are.”

“Donald,” the elder continued. “There is no rush to find a purpose. It will come. Be patient. Finding one’s purpose is not a contest. It is a personal quest.”

But Donald could hardly listen to the village elder. Because he was too busy listening to his own pondering. And through his flesh sack, a blustery storm of shame and embarrassment had begun to blow.

Donald felt like a nobody.

And when people feel like nobodies, generally speaking, the only cure, at least in their own minds, is to urgently get to work figuring out how to be a somebody.

To be continued…

-JLK