I am sitting in the same place I was yesterday, though I don’t remember where the mountains are in relation to my feet. I crouch down gingerly on the mossy rock. It is cold and slicker than I wanted, but I find a flat place to sit. I dangle my feet into the cool river. Bracing.

I can’t believe I get to come here whenever I want. I hope the girl who visited me yesterday arrives. I don’t want to force her, or even summon her, but our conversation was so truncated, and I don’t think I’m wrong when I say that we have much more to discuss.

I splish the water with my toes. This is the most relaxed I’ve been in months. I don’t want it to end. Can I sit here forever? Maybe if the sun never sets and the temperature always stays the same.

I try to stay open to whatever is meant to happen here. The mountains look HD, though that’s really just how good human eyes are. The breeze is lovely on this humid day. I am glad that the water here has run down from the top of the karsts, where the heat hasn’t gotten to them yet.

I try to stay present, and not let outer world concerns encroach on me. It never does me much good. It’s like the girl yesterday said: I DO NOT STRUGGLE. Piling current events on top of anything makes not struggling impossible.

I’m not sure of myself in this other place yet, and everything feels like a threat to where my feet are.

Where are your feet?

In the river, making ripples, cooling myself off.

I don’t want to hear myself talk anymore. If there’s anyone else out there, I promise I will listen. Maybe it’s better if I lie down to hear your words, but I wanted to get your message down, your thoughts, etc., as fast as I can, and not translate them incorrectly because I won’t memorize them.

I ask whoever wants to keep me company to show yourself. One at a time, please — I’m not well-versed in this sort of communion.

I have yet to come up with my ritual for switching back and forth to this place. Is there something I can wear to enter this place, even in my mind?

Yes: I open my eyes and fetch a pair of simple sandals, ones that I no longer can wear in the outer world. Here, they are comfortable and simple, and devoid of personality in the way that I’m supposedly full of it out there.

Okay, I’m back. My sandals are arranged neatly next to me, because my feet want to be in the cold water, shocking me into being in this place.

I am aware of my typing. It anchors me in the outer world, and I don’t know if it’s good for me or not. I wonder if the sound of it will keep chasing away whatever being wants to show up here.

I’ve only come here once before, but a thought comes to me: The villagers usually leave me alone. Perhaps I will be here by myself for the rest of the afternoon. There are worse things, I suppose.

As soon as I accept my solitude, a woman appears. She lives in the village. This is her river, her mountain, more than it will ever be mine. 

Am I borrowing this place from you?

NO.

Is that wishful thinking on my part?

NO. I DO NOT OWN THIS PLACE. I WOULD RATHER YOU SPEND TIME HERE WHENEVER YOU WANT THAN KNOW THAT IT GOES UNUSED.

Where are you when I arrive and find this place empty?

THERE ARE MANY CHORES TO DO. TENDING TO THE GARDEN. SHUTTLING BACK AND FORTH TO THE RICE PADDIES. 

I sense that the girl I met yesterday is your daughter. Or I want her to be.

I CANNOT TELL YOU THAT YET.

Because it’s too mixed up in what I wish for? I understand. Why are you here instead of her?

YOU NEED REASSURANCE. KIND WORDS. SOMEONE TO COMFORT YOU.

I guess. I don’t want to cry or be consoled, because the consoling will only break me open.

I AM NOT HERE TO BREAK YOU. WE CAN SIT, COEXIST. I AM HAPPY TO HELP YOU FIND COMFORT AND RELIEF IN THE WATER. IT IS CLEAR.

And my feet do not dirty it. 

NO. WE DON’T WORRY ABOUT THAT SORT OF THING HERE. 

I can’t really see you. Not yet. But I feel you. Your presence, I mean. You and the girl are similarly pragmatic, or your spirit feels that way to me. Your focus is here, in the present, in what you can see. Not what you can’t. Am I right?

Maybe I should listen first instead of putting words in your mouth.

You are silent. Have I ruined it? 

THERE IS NO RUINING. DO NOT WORRY ABOUT THAT.

I sense that you would like me to rise and explore this land with you. I am not sure if I am ready. But I don’t want to lose our conversation; I don’t want you to leave me, not yet.

PERHAPS YOU CAN HEAR MY WORDS WHILE I GO ABOUT MY DAY.

So I can stay?

YOU CAN DO WHATEVER YOU WANT.

I wish I could believe you.

THERE IS NO BELIEVE. THERE JUST IS.

Tell me your story. Please? I am sick of my own head.

HAVE I A STORY? I MAY HAVE APPEARED FULLY FORMED, TO TILL THE LAND. I LOOK AROUND ME AND I CANNOT SENSE A HISTORY. I LANDED HERE WITHOUT PRELUDE, AS IF IN YOUR DREAM. 

I am forcing it again, aren’t I?

She ignores me.

NOT MANY PEOPLE COME HERE. THERE IS ROOM FOR OTHERS, THERE IS GREAT ABUNDANCE HERE. THE LAND SUSTAINS US, THE GIRL AND I. WE CAN ROAM FOR DAYS AND REMAIN FED, CLOTHED, SLAKED OF THIRST.

I DO NOT QUESTION.

She does not struggle. You do not question. I wonder if there is a connection.

What do you not question?

I DON’T QUESTION MY PURPOSE. THE LAND IS HERE, SO I MUST TEND IT. THE AIR IS HERE, SO I  MUST BREATHE IT. THE SUN IS HERE, SO I KNOW TO FEEL IT ON MY FACE. YOU ARE HERE, AND I SPEAK WITH YOU. I AM LED.

So it is fated? No agency, no will?

THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEAN. THE WORLD SHOWS UP, AND I FIT MYSELF TO THE TASK THE WORLD REQUIRES.

This is hardly the world.

IS IT NOT? WHY WOULD THE WORLD NOT BE ENOUGH WORLD?

That is an excellent question. You don’t saddle yourself with more to do. You don’t orient yourself toward lists and accomplishments. If I understand you correctly.

I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN.

The world shows up and you fit yourself to the task the world requires; you do not question. In my world, the outer world, if I do not question, I am given the dregs. I am stuck with mean-spirited, venal, vile, violent, racist, evil, lazy-minded people. I must question there. Mustn’t I?

She doesn’t answer. I wonder if I can find peace in not questioning. In fitting myself to the task my world presents.

How do you know which task to perform first?

I DO NOT UNDERSTAND YOUR QUESTION.

There are so many things to do.

THERE IS ENOUGH TIME TO DO THEM.

Now I don’t understand your answer. In the dream world, maybe, in this world, maybe, but not in the outer world, where I spend the overwhelming majority of my time. There is never enough time.

AND YOU WORRY ABOUT THIS? DOES IT HELP?

No.

You are alien to me. What if you …

She touches me, just a feather on my arm, and I sense the peace she lives with. I breathe. The water thrills me. I wish I could stay here. It seems that the world itself loves her. That the world itself … loves me? 

Can that be possible?

THAT IS HOW IT IS.

Here.

THAT IS HOW IT IS.

Now I’m putting words in your mouth again.

She doesn’t say anything.

I might have to leave. This is too much for me. I want to sit with what you’ve said. Do you mind?

NO. OF COURSE NOT.

Will you come visit me again?

YOU KNOW I WILL.

If I summon you, will you come to me?

She doesn’t say anything.