Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig

Author:Robert M. Pirsig
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Tags: Pirsig, Conduct of life, Psychology, Parenting, Zen, Travel, Philosophy, Applied Psychology, Fathers and sons, Emotions, Essays & Travelogues, Fiction, Family & Relationships, Values, Travel - General, Fatherhood, Robert M, General, Eastern, Self, Fathers and sons - United States
ISBN: 9780060839871
Publisher: HarperPerennial
Published: 2005-07-21T07:00:00+00:00

19

A mat of sunlit pine needles by my face slowly tells me where I am and helps dispel a dream.

In the dream I was standing in a white-painted room looking at a glass door. On the other side was Chris and his brother and mother. Chris was waving at me from the other side of the door and his brother was smiling, but his mother had tears in her eyes. Then I saw that Chris’s smile was fixed and artificial and actually there was deep fear.

I moved toward the door and his smile became better. He motioned for me to open it. I was about to open it, but then didn’t. His fear came back but I turned and walked away.

It’s a dream that has occurred often before. Its meaning is obvious and fits some thoughts of last night. He’s trying to relate to me and is afraid he never will. Things are getting clearer up here.

Beyond the flap of the tent now the needles on the ground send vapors of mist up toward the sun. The air feels moist and cool, and while Chris still sleeps I get out of the tent carefully, stand up and stretch.

My legs and back are stiff but not painful. I do calisthenics for a few minutes to loosen them up, then sprint from the knoll into the pines. That feels better.

The pine odor is heavy and moist this morning. I squat and look down at the morning mists in the canyon below.

Later I return to the tent where a noise indicates that Chris is awake, and when I look inside I see his face stare around silently. He’s a slow waker and it’ll be five minutes before his mind warms up to the point where he can speak. Now he squints into the light.

”Good morning,” I say.

No answer. A few raindrops fall down from the pines.

”Did you sleep well?”

”No.”

”That’s too bad.”

”How come you’re up so early?” he asks.

”It’s not early.”

”What time is it?”

”Nine o’clock,” I say.

”I bet we didn’t go to sleep until three.”

Three? If he stayed awake he’s going to pay for it today.

”Well, I got to sleep,” I say.

He looks at me strangely. “You kept me awake.”

”Me?”

”Talking.”

”In my sleep, you mean.”

”No, about the mountain “

Something is odd here. “I don’t know anything about a mountain, Chris.”

”Well, you talked all night about it. You said at the top of the mountain we’d see everything. You said you were going to meet me there.”

I think he’s been dreaming. “How could I meet you there when I’m already with you?”

”I don’t know. You said it.” He looks upset. “You sounded like you were drunk or something.”

He’s still half asleep. I’d better let him wake up peacefully. But I’m thirsty and remember I left the canteen behind, thinking we’d find enough water as we traveled. Dumb. There’ll be no breakfast now until we’re up over the ridge and far enough down to the other side where we can find a spring. “We’d better pack up and go,” I say, “if we’re going to get some water for breakfast.

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