SACRED JOURNEY OF THE PEACEFUL WARRIOR

by Dan Millman

  “You grew marijuana?”

  “Yes. That was 1960, and it just seemed like the thing to do. I don’t do that anymore, because—well, now it just doesn’t seem like the thing to do. I still cook when I get a chance, but there aren’t many chances around here. So I build cabinets and bureaus—that sort of thing. I like working with wood. It pays the bills and keeps me out of mischief.” He smiled.

  “Anyway, back then, I made a lot of money, and about that time, I married Sarah. In 1964, Sachi was born, and …” Joseph paused here—I think it pained him to recall it—“I just split. I …” He searched for the right words. “Dan, you understand about the three selves, right?”

  I nodded. “I am acquainted with my Basic Self, but I sort of lost touch with my Higher Self,” I answered.

  “Just the opposite with me,” said Joseph. “I rejected my Basic Self. All I wanted was to be up and out of here—to go home, wherever that was. I tried everything to get high. I couldn’t cope with the hassles of daily life. I told myself I was a ‘spiritual being,’ a ‘creative artist’ who didn’t have to deal with ‘reality.’ I spent most of my time meditating, communing with nature, reading—all the time hoping to go ‘somewhere else’—anywhere I wouldn’t have to deal with the drudgery, the details, the physicality of this realm.

  “Then, when Sachi came along—I wasn’t ready to have children, to work on a relationship or responsibilities; I didn’t know how to deal with it. So I took half our funds and split. I didn’t know where to go, but I ended up in Berkeley, California, and after a few weeks, I ran into this old guy—”

  “At a gas station,” I laughed, completing Joseph’s sentence for him.

  “You can imagine the rest. Socrates insisted I get responsible work before he’d teach me, so I started the café. We made a deal,” he said. “I fed him some good food, and he turned my life upside down.”

  “Sounds fair to me.” I said, grinning.

  “More than fair,” Joseph agreed. “I got my money’s worth; he really kicked my ass. I haven’t seen him for about five years, though. Went back to visit two years ago, but he’d gone. He once said something about going to the mountains, maybe somewhere in the Sierras—I don’t know. I doubt we’ll see him for a while.”

  “Well, how did you turn it around? I mean, you came back here, made a go of your relationship—you build cabinets, maintain a business …”

  Joseph smiled at me as I counted all the responsible things he did on my fingers. “It still isn’t easy,” he said. “But do you remember what Soc used to remind us? You know, about a chain breaking at its weakest link—and so do we? Well, I just decided I’d better work on my weak links.”

  “I still have my work cut out for me,” I said. “But I’m really not sure how to ‘work on’ getting into my heart. Mama Chia said it had to come of its own accord.”

  Joseph paused, thoughtful, and said, “I think it’s just a matter of becoming more and more aware. Simple awareness can set in motion many kinds of healing.”

  We sat quietly for a while, then I reminded him, “You said you were ill.”

  Startled out of reverie, Joseph replied, “Yes—and I had intended to go to the mountains to fast and pray, as I told you. But then I remembered something Socrates had told me about life being hard either way, whether you space out and give up, or whether you go for it. Well, it sank in. I realized that the mountain hermit thing would be another way to get out of the body, to escape. I probably would have died.

  “But I decided to return to Molokai, come what may, to take up where I’d left off—but do it right—with as much time as I had left to do it in, if Sarah would have me back.

  “She welcomed me with open arms,” he said. “Everything worked out so incredibly,” he said. “As soon as I committed to coming back and digging in and going for it, it all fell into place.”

  “How?”

  “Well, that’s when I started working with Mama Chia. She taught me a few things, and helped me to heal.”

  “It sure worked,” I said. “I’ve seen your family.”

  Joseph gave me a look of complete contentment—a look I envied. And I reflected sadly about the shambles in which I’d left my own marriage and family. But that was going to change, I told myself.

  Joseph stood slowly. “I’m glad to see you again, Dan.”

  “Best thing that’s happened to me in a long time,” I replied. “And a lot of good things have happened.”

  “I believe that,” he said.

  “Amazing how we both found our way to Mama Chia.”

  “It sure is,” he echoed. “And so is she.”

  “Hey, and speaking of amazing, that daughter of yours is a wonder,” I said—then I remembered what had happened in town. “She did get a bit of a scare, though.”

  “I know … Sachi told me about it. But from what I hear, she wasn’t the one who was in trouble.”

  “You got that right,” I declared. “But that incident taught me something: I need to learn some martial arts.”

  “I’m surprised Socrates never taught you. He was pretty amazing at it, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I was so focused on gymnastics—you remember.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Joseph looked thoughtful, then said, “Well, Fuji used to study some kind of karate. He’s a good man. Maybe he can help you, but, Dan, for this situation, I don’t think learning to fight is really the answer. I know those boys. They’re not really bad kids. Once they helped me push my car half a mile to a gas station. They’re just bored, and frustrated. There aren’t many jobs; they probably don’t feel terribly good about themselves—same old story.” He sighed.

  “Yeah, I know,” I replied. I looked at Joseph. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

  “Me, too,” he answered.

  AS WE EMERGED from the forest and approached Joseph’s front steps, little Socrates came running, jumped up into Joseph’s arms, then turned his dad’s face so they were nose to nose. It was clear he wanted his father’s undivided attention.

  Joseph kissed Soc on the nose and turned to me. “I’m going back to Oahu tomorrow to complete a job, and, well—I need to spend some time with my family.”

  “Oh—sure,” I said. “Maybe I’ll see you when you get back.”

  “Count on it,” he smiled. Sarah came out, too, and put her arm around her husband. They waved as I turned back down the path. I heard Sachiko’s voice from their cabin as she called to her family, “Food’s ready.”

  Walking back to my cabin, I felt a stab of regret as I thought of Linda and Holly. I wondered if I’d ever have a happy family of my own.

  THAT AFTERNOON, wandering through the forest paths, I found my way to Sei Fujimoto’s house. Mitsu answered the door. “I just put the baby down,” she whispered. “Fuji’s not here, but he should be back any time. You want to wait inside?”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Fujimoto—”

  “Call me Mitsu.”

  “Thanks, Mitsu, but I’d like to wait in the garden for a while, if that’s okay.”

  “Play with the garden spirits, eh?” she said, smiling.

  “Something like that,” I replied.

  I had always had a special feeling about gardens, about sitting in the dirt, surrounded by plants. So I lay on my side, feeling the warm, rich earth radiate pleasant heat on my chest and stomach, and I gazed up close at a squash blossom, its yellow flower so delicate, with the most subtle fragrance, waving in the gentle breeze.

  And I did feel the garden spirits—a distinctive energy so different from the cold, functional concrete of the cities and sidewalks, expanses of stark gray blocks, with their stiffness and rigidity. Here, I felt at peace … .

  The honk of Fuji’s truck brought me back to the business at hand. I walked over to him, waved, and helped him unload some bags of fertilizer to complement his compost pile. “Nice to see you, Dan—glad to have some help.”

  “Actually, Fuji, I came to ask for your help,” I said.


  He stopped and looked over at me, curious. “How can I help you?”

  “Joseph said you used to know some karate.”

  A smile of recognition passed over his face. “Oh, I see. Yes, I’ve studied a little of this, a little of that. I’m not as quick now—have to hit the bad guys with bags of fertilizer, or with my car,” he joked. “What do you want with karate—somebody you want me to beat up?” His smile broadened as he struck a pose, puffing up his chest in mock bravado.

  “No,” I laughed. “Nothing like that. It’s just that I think I should learn how to defend myself.”

  “Not a bad idea; you never know when you’ll need it,” he said. “There’s a pretty good school in town—I’ve stopped by and watched a few times.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I’d be able to take lessons in town right now; I don’t have the time.”

  “What you want to do, take a self-defense pill?” he asked.

  “No,” I answered, laughing again.

  “I was wondering if you could teach me something.”

  “Me?” He shook his head. “It’s been too many years, Dan. I’ve forgotten more than I know.” He took a stance, kicked the air, then held his back, comically. “See what I mean?”

  “Fuji, I’m serious. This is important to me.”

  He hesitated. “I’d like to help you, Dan, but you better study with a real teacher. Besides, I’ve got to run up to the ranch and mend some fence.”

  “Well, I’ve got nothing else to do; how about if I help you with the fence?”

  “Okay. Then at least I can teach you the fine art of fencing,” he punned. “I’ll tell Mitsu we’re going.”

  “And think about the other lessons, too, okay?”

  He called back to me: “I don’t like to think too much about anything.”

  WE SPENT THE REST OF THE DAY mending fences. It was hard work—digging postholes, pounding the uprights, sawing and chopping. Fuji loaned me a pair of his gloves or my hands would have blistered; it reminded me of the old gymnastic days. Mitsu invited me for a vegetarian dinner of steaming rice, vegetables, and tofu. Then the baby’s cry was Mitsu’s signal to say good night.

  “You did a good job, today, Dan,” Fuji said, handing me a ten dollar bill—the first money I’d earned in a while.

  “I can’t take your money, Fuji.”

  “Not my money—yours. I don’t work for free; neither do you,” he insisted, pressing it into my hand.

  “Well, then, maybe I can use it to pay you for a martial art lesson.”

  Fuji knit his brows in thought before answering. “I could give you one painting lesson, but that wouldn’t make you a painter.”

  “Sure it would.” I said. “Just not a very good one.”

  Scratching his head as if the idea pained him, Fuji said, “Let me think about it.”

  “Good enough, and good night.”

  THE NEXT MORNING, Fuji woke me. “Okay,” he said. “I can show you one or two things.” I opened my eyes to see him standing over me. “I’ll wait outside,” he said.

  Jumping out of bed, I made a quick pit stop, then emerged from the cabin with shorts on and shirt in hand.

  I followed him to a spot of level ground about twenty feet from the cabin, where he turned, and said, “Stand here. Face me.”

  “Uh, shouldn’t we warm up or something?” I asked, accustomed to my old gymnastic habits.

  “Don’t need a warm-up in Hawaii,” he said. “Hawaii is a warm-up. Besides, no warm-up required for what we do; we get warmer as we go. Okay?

  “Okay; now I’m gonna show you a very good martial arts movement.” Taking a comfortable stance, he said, “Copy me.” He let both arms drop to his sides, then began to bend his right arm at the elbow, raising his hand. I did the same. Then he extended his hand forward, toward me. I mirrored each movement as precisely as I could. As I did this, he reached out with that hand and started shaking mine. “How do you do,” he said, grinning, “nice to meet you, let’s be friends, okay?”

  “Fuji,” I said, letting go of his hand. “Quit playing around; I’m serious!”

  “Me, too,” he assured me. “This is one of my favorite techniques. It’s called ‘making friends.’ I always teach it first.”

  “Then there’s more?” I asked, hopeful.

  “Sure, but if the first technique works, you don’t need any others. I also have a move called ‘handing wallet to thief.’ Sometimes avoids pain.”

  “Fuji, if those bully boys in town ever run into me again, I may not be able to shake hands, and they don’t want my wallet; they want my head.”

  “Okay,” he said, serious this time. “I better show you a few things.”

  “Kicks and punches?”

  “No—they hurt people.”

  Getting frustrated, I asked, “What kind of martial artist are you, anyway?”

  “Pacifist kind,” he replied. “You hurt other people enough times, you get tired of seeing blood. Anyway, I can help you with self-defense, not offense.”

  FOR THE NEXT SEVERAL HOURS, he proceeded to show me a series of evasive maneuvers, twists, and turns, and ways to shield myself with circular movements of my arms—simple, and elegant. “I like to keep it simple,” he said. “Easier to practice.”

  He told me to visualize actual attackers, larger and meaner than I would ever be likely to meet. Soon, the defensive elements took on a life of their own.

  I reached into my pocket and offered him back his ten dollars.

  “No,” he waved me off. “This wasn’t a lesson—this was play. Brought back some good memories. Keep your money—may come in handy.”

  “Thank you, Fuji.”

  “Thank you, too, Dan.”

  We shook hands. “Still my favorite move, that one,” he said.

  “Fuji,” I asked as I walked with him back to his cabin, “did a spry old man with white hair, a friend of Mama Chia’s, ever visit around here? His name is Socrates.”

  Fuji knit his brows, then a smile came to his face. “Yes, I think so—once, some years ago—short white hair, wearing the brightest Hawaiian shirt I ever saw. Must have come from California,” he added with a grin. “Very interesting man.”

  I could just imagine Socrates in a Hawaiian shirt. I wondered if I would ever see my old teacher and friend again, and all at once I missed him terribly.

  BOOK THREE

  The Great Leap

  Anything can be achieved in small, deliberate steps.

  But there are times you need the courage to take a great leap.

  You can’t cross a chasm in two small jumps.

  —David Lloyd George

  CHAPTER 20

  Odyssey

  The secret of success in life:

  Prepare for opportunity when it comes.

  —Benjamin Disraeli

  AS WE NEARED FUJI’S HOUSE, the stars were just coming out, and the moon was nearly full. Except for the crickets, and a soft wind, the silent forest was asleep.

  “You sure you won’t stay for dinner?” he asked. “Mitsu is always happy to set out one more plate.”

  “No, really, I have some things to do,” I said, but the truth was, with the baby and all, I didn’t want to impose. Fuji stopped and stared into space. He looked serious.

  Just then, I had a kind of premonition—not bad, exactly, but unsettling.

  “What is it, Fuji? Do you feel something, too?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “What could it—” My thoughts naturally drifted to Mama Chia. “Mama Chia?” I said. “Do you think—”

  Fuji looked at me. “I’ll drop by—just in case.”

  “I’ll go with you,” I said.

  “No,” he replied. “It may be nothing.”

  “I want to go.”

  Fuji hesitated, then said, “Okay.” We walked quickly up the path toward her house.

  The feeling of foreboding grew stronger for both of us as we drew near her house. “It’s probably nothing,” I said, trying to conv
ince myself that everything was all right.

  WE WERE ABOUT TO GO INSIDE when Fuji spotted her, slumped against a tree adjacent to the garden. She looked so peaceful there, so still, with the moonlight shining on her closed eyes. Fuji rushed to her side and started to check her pulse.