Journeys in the Search for the Meaning of Life. A story of those who have found it. Rami Bleckt

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      © Rami Bleckt

      © Publishing company «Blago-Darenie»

      Introduction

      This extraordinary story has changed the outlook and lives of many people. It began in the first class cabin of a trans-Atlantic flight. I had boarded and taken my seat beside a man reading a Russian newspaper. I wondered where he had gotten it and just thought to myself, "Well, so he's a Russian speaker, too."

      Just before take off, several other people belatedly joined us in first-class. The first had an unusual appearance, unusual in such a way that it was difficult to define what his nationality was. He had a thick head of gray hair, a wise look to him, and faint wrinkles around his eyes – none of which helped to define his age, but he seemed to be over 40. There was an air of calm around him. The second man had a child. The last person to enter was a pretty young woman, brightly dressed and sexy. They all sat not far from me.

      The first of these, "the wise man," as I nicknamed him, sat across the aisle from me. The man with the child and the young woman sat across the aisle in the row in front of me. The woman had begun to stow her small bag up top when she arrived and it was clear she expected others to fall over themselves offering to help her. This is frequently the way it occurs with pretty women, spoiled by the attention others lavish on them, accustomed to receiving requests to become acquainted and being offered help for the slightest reason. Yet her bag was so small and light and the personal energy she exuded so repulsive, no one felt the compulsion to help, the more so that she didn't really need it. Her outwardly flirtatious appearance quickly turned into scantly concealed anger and irritation.

      Everyone took their seats and the announcement came that we were taking off. The plane taxied down into standby position, where we then had to wait for almost an hour before take off because of a backlog of delayed planes. Even though this doesn't happen often, when it does, it is quite irritating. This time, however, while we sat there waiting, something interesting took place. I was paying attention to "the wise man" in the front row. He asked the stewardess about what time we would be landing, taken our late departure. When she gave him an approximate time, a look of confusion crossed his face for a second. Taking into account about a two-hours delay, it now looked like he would have to stay overnight in Toronto. (On arrival, he was supposed to catch a connecting flight out of the US.)

      The interesting thing was that, despite his confusion, he looked peaceful and unperturbed. He glanced at his watch rather calmly, although he was now late for some important meeting or conference, a fact which came out later during a conversation with the young woman. It also became clear that he had no Canadian visa and so he would not be able to leave the airport for hotel accommodations. Too bad; the next flight for him would not be until after lunch time of the next day.

      All this he discussed with the flight attendant. Yet throughout it all the man exuded calm. I clearly noticed that, despite the delay, his reaction to it all was devoid of annoyance or pretentious behavior. Later, I learned that these three late passengers had been seriously – and unceremoniously – frisked and detained at the airport and had barely made it to our flight. Yet even this circumstance hadn't fazed his outward calm.

      At the same time, it was interesting to watch the boy. He was five, though at first I had thought eight or ten. He had an unusually intelligent look, wise for a child, and asked his father questions in a loud and insistent way. The father, in contrast, was quite ordinary-looking, rather disheveled and displeased, yet was answering his son in a calm manner.

      "Papa, why are we just sitting here?"

      "Because the flight is delayed, because other planes have messed up the schedule. Lots of planes are taking off, and lots are landing. The runway is occupied."

      "But why? Why did this happen?"

      "It just happens sometimes."

      "But why did we fly with this plane? We could've left with a different one. Gee, we had two weeks of vacation left and we could've had a great time at Grandma's."

      "I have to work."

      "Why do we have to work?"

      "So that there would be a reason to live and that there will always be something to eat."

      "Why live? Why do we live? What's the reason? For you, Papa, what's the reason? Do you know your reason for living?"

      Up to this point, the man had answered confidently, but here he faltered.

      "Yeah, well, you know… you'll understand when you grow up," he said.

      "Oh, come on, Papa. What's the reason? What? Tell me."

      At this point, the man started to tell him some general kinds of things, but the child wasn't having it. He would ask again and yet again the same question, bringing the man to the same dead end: "But why?" Why rush forward, why work hard so that you earn something, why fulfill your obligations, why help people, and on and on.

      It was rather amusing to observe. And still, once again:

      "Papa, so why do we live? What's it all for, what's the reason?"

      The boy kept it going on.

      "Well, I really don't have a final answer to give, and I think hardly anyone does…"

      At this, the boy nearly broke out in tears.

      "So… what?! Everyone is living with no purpose, even scholars? Why be born, study, then work, and then get old and die?"

      "Maybe there is no meaning…"

      At this, "the wise one" spoke up in crystal-clear Russian:

      "But why say that? There is a meaning to life."

      "Do you really know?" СКАЧАТЬ