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kcnevijay · 2 years ago

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JJBA Fan Fiction Post-Golden Wind and Pre-Stone Ocean

I wrote this March of 2022, but got discouraged because well, fan fiction is fan fiction right? Everyone writes it, because we're all so passionate about our shows/manga/etc. Anyhow, here's an idea I had in my head. If you think I should continue, let me know.

Part I: Title TBA

May 2007

Morioh, Japan; Rohan Kishibe’s residence, 10:30am

“It would appear that I’ve stumbled upon something quite bizarre.” Rohan rifled through two months worth of mail; he’d been away in Italy investigating some recent events, and had just returned home the night before. A particular letter in the pile had caught his attention. “A round envelope? I’ve never seen something like this, and no postage or return address, how odd. Someone must have dropped this is my mailbox. It’d better not be from that damned Josuke... though I doubt that. I’m not even sure if he can read or write. Hmmm... Well , let’s see.” Rohan perused the outside edge of the envelope for an opening. “A round envelope with no visible openings, how truly bizarre, oh here it is... and I see it opens into an origami of a crane. How traditional, and... unsatisfying. Hopefully this actually leads to something worthwhile” he groaned as he opened up the crane into a rounded flat sheet of paper. “Ah, here it is, after 5 years of wading through endless folds, we’ve finally reached the POINT of this letter. Let’s see what it says”

Master Rohan,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am reaching out because I need your help! I can’t reveal much, but I am a profound admirer of not just you work as an artist, but your part in the exposure and demise of Yoshikage Kira. As I’m sure you’re aware, his death and villainous reputation are by no means public knowledge, so hopefully this is enough to get you to meet me tomorrow at Cape Boing at 2pm.

Regards,

Godspeed

“Godspeed? Who the hell is this? Originally I thought this was some kind of prank, but those two knuckleheads Josuke and Okuyasu Nijimura couldn’t put two sentences together even if I gave them the words with Heaven’s Door. No, this is someone else. Alright, whoever you are, you’ve peaked the curiousity of the Great Rohan, I’ll meet you at Cape Boing. But first, I need to see an old friend, it would be unwise to meet some rando on the fringes of town without some sort of backup.”

Church of St. George; Eastern Ain Shams, Cairo. A group of nine Heliopolitan Priests gather in a hidden basement room, dimly lit by torches, wearing ritualistic robes.

“It is not without knowing the gravity of our power that we gather our flock here, in the place where Rameses once stood; in the land once cursed by the 10 plagues, and yet we stand; alive after all these centuries. It is for this that we gather here, nine priests, one for each god of the Great Ennead. And it is with us that we ask them to show themselves as we say their names”. The group chanted in unison “the sun god Atum; his children Shu and Tefnut; their children Geb and Nut; and their children Osiris, Isis, Set, and Nephthys. We call to you, oh great gods, so that you may bless our priesthood with your knowledge, wisdom and power.”

The room shakes. One by one, the torches brighten, until there are nine bright flames, lighting every crevice and hole in the ancient brick that line the room. It is here when a booming voice proclaims: “WE ARE THE ENNEAD, AND IT IS ATUM WHO SPEAKS. WHO IS SPOKEN FOR AMONGST THE BELIEVERS?” The lead priest responded, “It is I, Asim”. “HIGH PRIEST ASIM, WHAT IS IT YOU REQUEST?”. “Great god Atum, as you know, almost two decades ago, your offspring Horus was killed in a deadly battle, enslaved by the vampire Dio Brando, who was masquerading as a god himself. It is also known that your offspring, Anubis, was banished to the bottom of the Nile under similar circumstances. Several other men brought shame to the Ennead, using the names of the nine to represent Dio’s campaign of evil, despite not having even a mere endorsement from the great gods”

“WE KNOW THIS, WHY REPEAT IT?” “My god, it is our genuine concern that this campaign of evil was only paused for a time, but there are clear indicators that it has begun again”. “AND OF WHAT CONCERN IS THAT TO THE GREAT ENNEAD? ANUBIS AND HORUS MET A JUST FATE FOR THEIR TRANSGRESSIONS” “My god, it is not a requirement, but a humble request that you help us bring balance back in the battle against these evil doers who have risen again.” “AND WHAT, MAY I ASK, IS YOUR REQUEST?” “On January 16th, 1989, a man was reported dead to us, a great follower of yours, a true seer. He had been swallowed into a void created by the one who murdered him in the name of Dio, leaving only his arms behind, and though we know it is beyond your power to revive every soul lost in the battle between good and evil, we need this man. We need him to fight, and to win so that we may continue to prophesy and preach in the name of the Ennead”

“HMMMM. MANY KNOW THAT MY GRANDSON OSIRIS IS THE GOD OF RESURRECTION, BUT AS YOU KNOW, MY GRANDDAUGHTER ISIS WAS THE ONE WHO RESURRECTED HIM WHEN HE WAS SLAIN. SHE SHALL ADDRESS YOU NOW”. A woman comes forth to address the nine high priests “YOU HAVE MADE YOUR REQUEST SO I AM SURE YOU ARE AWARE OF WHAT THIS ENTAILS?”. Asim gestures to one of the other high priests who then retrieves several items wrapped in sheets, “Yes my god Isis, we have brought the bones from the two arms we recovered” “BRING THEM TO ME” The priest in charge of the bones hurriedly rushes to the center of the circle and unwraps them. “ASIM, HIGH PRIEST OF HELIOPOLIS, FOLLOWER AND TRUE BELIEVER OF THE GREAT ENNEAD, TONIGHT WE GRANT YOUR WISH TO RESSURECT THE SOUL OF OUR FALLEN DISCIPLE, MUHAMMAD AVDOL, SO THAT HE MAY FIGHT ALONGSIDE YOU AND DEFEAT OUR ENEMIES ONCE AGAIN”.

The flames start flickering slowly, picking up speed like pistons on a train until they flicker so fast that they almost burn in unison, and it is here where they begin to spiral to the center of the room, as if they were being sucked into a black hole, while not burning a single high priest. Faster and faster and faster, the room is a engulfed in a Kaleidescope of light from the flames, and then... darkness. Silence fills the room. The presence that was felt before is gone. Asim reaches for his lighter, and clicks it on. He looks around, to see that all eight of the other priests are knelt in prayer and astonishment, and there, at the center of the circle is a single pair of eyes staring back at him, flickering with distinction in the flames. The eyes of Muhammed Avdol.

Jotaro Kujo and Josuke Higashikata sit mid-flight in a Bombardier Global Express, w/ Okuyasu Nijimura in tow.

“Josuke, I was pretty explicit that you be the only one to meet me, so why is Okuyasu here” Jotaro said annoyed. “Jeez man, honestly I didn’t think it’d that big of a deal. Plus, it’s not every day you get to skip school and ride on a private jet” Josuke retorted. Okuyasu, “Yeah Jotaro, just relax. We’re just a couple of kids, taking in the good life”. “Be that as it may” Jotaro said, “This trip isn’t a social call. Josuke, the reason I wanted to talk to you alone and in person is because I have some bad news.” “Huh?!” Josuke said, “What do you mean” “Well, if you’d let me tell you” Jotaro said, seemingly more annoyed. Okuyasu is playing with the seat controls and the tray function. Star platinum intercedes. “Like I was saying, I have some bad news, and now that both of you are here, you’ll both have to bear witness... The old man is dead” “WHAAAAT?!” Josuke and Okuyasu exclaimed in unison. “He died suddenly in his sleep last night. To be honest, the old man wasn’t in the greatest shape to begin with, but the Speedwagon Foundation was keeping an eye on his health, so his sudden demise seems anything but ordinary to me.” “Seems kinda bizarre” said Okuyasu. “Yeah, I mean I just talked to the guy last week” said Josuke, “he seemed fine to me, even said he was coming to visit Morioh soon”. “Glad you both agree” Jotaro said, “And that’s why we’re on our way to New York to investigate.”

Morioh, Japan; Koichi Hirose Residence. It’s 10am the following morning and Rohan Kishibe is waiting impatiently for someone to answer the door.

“What in god’s name is taking him so long. I mean I know he’s married now, but is it too much to ask for someone to answer the door?” Rohan thought. The door opened, it was Koichi’s wife, Yukako Yamagishi. “Ah, Rohan, Ko told me you were coming over. Sorry for the delay, but you know, kids.” She says as her hair stand Love Deluxe holds a 5 year old upside down by his ankles while his 3 year old brother clings to his mom’s leg. “Come on in, Koichi will be right down. Now, as for you two” she gestured to her children, “Today is not the day to run mommy and daddy ragged, now go in the other room and play with your toys. PLAY NICE PLEASE. You know what happens when mommy catches you misbehaving”. Rohan passed the threshold, “You know I’m not surprised you’re such a good mother, that mean streak is a sight to behold”. Yukako laughed “Oh, they have no idea about that, but maybe one day they will. It’s nice to have Love Deluxe to help me though. It’s like having a free nanny. Anyways, how are you Rohan? It’s been a while”.

“I suppose It has, and especially as the older one’s Godfather, what’s his name again?” “It’s Rohan” “That’s right, well I’m sorry to say I don’t visit as often as I should, but these Pink Dark Boy deadlines don’t exactly hit themselves. With that being said, once I get this business solved with Koichi, I’ll definitely come by and spend some time with the boy. Does he draw?” “Well he’s five Rohan, so he draws like a five year old.” “I see, so not very good, but maybe if I use Heaven’s Do-” “You will NOT use your stand on my children Rohan, we already went over this the last time you baby sat” “Yes yes, you’re right, ok well I guess his mediocre drawing abilities will have to do. God forbid someone named Rohan can’t draw”. “Yes... God forbid” replied Yukako, “KO! Are you coming downstairs or what?!?!”. A voice echoed back “Coming!”. A small slight man bounded down the stairs and met his wife’s gaze at the landing. Yukako remarked, “If you weren’t so cute, I’d be incredibly annoyed right now, so fair warning, don’t let Rohan do anything that may risk you harming that handsome face, or you’ll come home to divorce papers”.

They kiss, “Love, you know you fell for way more than just my looks” responded Koichi. “That may be true” Yukako replied, “but nonetheless, PLEASE BE CAREFUL! Also, if any of this gets serious, I want in! It’s been too long since we got to go on an adventure and my mom’s long overdue to take care of the boys”. Koichi glanced at Rohan “Rohan Sensei, hope you have room for 3”. “Yes, yes” Rohan uttered, “we’re all one big happy family, solving crimes and riding around in a ugly colored van w/ ascots and a great dane. Fine, fine, Yukako, I will go investigate this letter with Koichi and when we return, IF, and I mean IF it turns out to be something, you may come along.” Yukako exclaimed, “YES! I can’t wait! I’ll be sure to make us all bento boxes”. “Yes, yes, bring a buffet for all I care. Koichi let’s go, I want to figure out who the hell this Godspeed is before we do anything” “Yes sensei, let’s go! Ok, bye my love! Bye kids”. Koichi kissed his wife and waved goodbye to his sons Rohan and Jotaro.

Koichi and Rohan walk through Morioh, making their way to Cape Boing for the 2pm meeting with the mystery man

“So I did some light reading. Godspeed comes from the middle english “God spede”, a phrase uttered between 1150 and 1500 AD to wish success as a result of God, specifically “May God cause you to succeed”. Now Godspeed is a part of the modern lexicon with hardly any religious connotation, and it just makes me wonder. What kind of person would write such a thing as their pseudonym?” “Well-” started Koichi, but Rohan kept on, “It would stand to reason that this is some sort of code, so perhaps we should separate the words and disregard all this middle English nonsense. Hmmm, unless the person IS english? God, speed, possibly english. What does is mean Koichi?” “Well, I think that-” Rohan interrupted again, “Perhaps this is a cult and whoever this is intends to use us as a blood sacrifice over the edge of the Cape Boing observation deck” “Well, I hope not. Yukako would probably kill whoever did that.” “Be that as it may, to get something like this out of the blue... And they know about Kira. No one knows about Kira” “Maybe they’re connected to Mr. Jotaro or someone outside of Morioh?” Koichi said. “Perhaps” retorted Rohan, “It would align with the use of middle english. If this person were Japanese, the word Shinsoku would suffice”. “Maybe” said Koichi, “I guess we’ll see”. “We shall, and if it’s that damned Josuke again, I swear, there will be a world of pain awaiting him”

Daniel K. Inouye International Airport, Honolulu, Hawaii, 11:30am

“PLEASE, can we stop for some poke?!” pleaded Okuyasu. “No, and I’m not going to repeat myself. We’re here to fill up, and then we’re on our way to our final stop”. “Please please PLEASE”, “Good grief, give me a second”. Jotaro picked up his phone and called an undisclosed number “Yes, sorry to trouble you, but I’m traveling with a couple of children disguised as grown men who’d like some traditional Hawaiian Poke. Can we get some delivered to the run way in the next 30 minutes? Yes... uh huh... sure... And yes we’re straight away to New York from here so have an escort at JFK ready for us... Yeah thanks”. Jotaro hung up “Ok, you satisfied”. Josuke and Okuyasu proceed to do a happy dance, to which Jotaro looks away, shaking his head.

Cape Boing Observation Deck, 1:56pm. Rohan and Koichi approach.

Rohan starts in, “You know Koichi, you would think that if you sent some creepy vague letter to someone with a specific meeting time, you’d at least have the class and dignity to show up early”. “I agree Sensei, but we still have no idea who this is. Maybe they have a good reason?” As Rohan and Koichi walked by a very familiar pay phone, it rings. Rohan and Koichi stop, Rohan looks around suspiciously, then reaches into the booth and grabs the phone, “You this this is a game Josuke?!?!?!?”. A voice on the other end responds, “Rohan Kishibe, this is the operator, please step away from the phone booth and await further instructions”. “What?! Who the hell is this? You bet-” The phone booth begins to rumble and Rohan back away. “What’s going on?!” yelled Koichi. “I guess we’re about to find out” responded Rohan. The ground shakes. Outside of Rohan and Koichi, the area is deserted since it’s not summer yet. As the ground continues to shake the phone booth lowers into the ground. A hole forms revealing several steps. The ground stops shaking. Click... clack... click... clack “Well this can’t be Josuke, he’s certainly a pompous ass, but he’s not one for grand entrances” Click.. Clack.. Click.. A man emerges from the shadows, an older gentleman. We recognize that upright bearing and that scar, but Rohan and Koichi have no idea. “I bet you don’t know who I am. Well allow me to elucidate ya”.

Queens, New York, USA; JFK Airport, 10pm EST. Jotaro, Josuke and Okuyasu exit their plane and enter a van chartered by the Speedwagon foundation.

“I’m soooooo hungry. You know, Josuke, Chef Tonio said New York has some of the best pizza and culinary delights, even though he said it’s not exactly the most authentic Italian food” “We don’t have time for that right now!” Jotaro retorted, “Driver, take us to the old man. We’ll get you guys a pizza once we do some investigating”. “Awww maaan” Josuke chimed in “I don’t know why we can’t at least get some grub first, it’s not like the old man’s gonna come back to life”. “No, we’ll get something to eat after. Now shut up you two, we have work to do”

London, England; Midnight, in the catacombs beneath a street so aptly named, “Ogre Street”. Cloaked individuals meet beneath the light of kerosene lanterns

As each kerosene lighter is placed, a circle of 12 individuals is formed. Each places their lantern on the floor, and proceeds to walk along the same path, in a circulatory motion. Murmuring ensues, but not from the souls who walk the path, but rather the souls who dwell in these catacombs. The murmuring gets louder and louder, the 12 cloaked individuals remain quiet, continuing their motion and pace. The murmuring has now turned to yelling, bickering and in-fighting, and then... a loud CLAP is heard. The pacing stops, each individual turns and faces the center of the circle. “Let’s begin.”

Back in Morioh, in an underground bunker just beneath the Cape Boing obervatory, a mysterious man with a pilgrim style buckled hat looks out through a one way mirror that gives the illusion of being a cliff on the other side.

“Would you two like some coffee, tea?”

“Sure” uttered Rohan, “but never mind that, so you are the world famous Robert EO Speedwagon? I thought I recognized you, but that’s impossible. You died in 1952 at the age of 89. That would make you... 140?! How is such a thing even possible?! The oldest person to ever live in the age of modern medicine was Jeanne Calment, who died at 122.”

“Well, in my defense” started Speedwagon, “I thought we’d have flying cars by now, but I suppose an artificial heart and the key to living over a century without becoming a blood sucking vampire was enough for me”. Anyhow, I didn’t come here to chat about the secret medical advances of the Speedwagon foundation, I-”

“ENOUGH TALKING, HEAVEN’S DOOR!!!” yelled Rohan

Speedwagon collapsed into a leatherbound chair. “Ok...” Rohan said perusing through the pages of the man’s soul “Yes, yes, oil tycoon... Born in London to a poor family... very Bohemian Rhapsody... Met a young Jonathan Joestar in 1888... mourned his untimely demise... It says here that he’s-” “NOW STOP RIGHT THERE, I forbid you from uttering any more of my personal information aloud!” Speedwagon uttered, the book in the middle of his face still wide open. “Oh, you’re no fun. FINE” said Rohan, “So if you’re not going to consent to me reading our reason for being here in the pages of your mind, perhaps you might tell us?” “Certainly” said Speedwagon, “Mr. Hirose, perhaps you could hit the lights?” “UM, sure!” Koiche said with a slight delay. “Don’t worry Koiche” said Rohan, “At 140, I have my doubts this man would have the strength to murder us or bring us all this way” “I have no intention of killing you two! Now if you could stop with the foolishness, time is of the essence!”

Flatiron Building, 5th Ave, New York, NY, Jotaro and company enter the penthouse suite where Joseph Joestar’s body was found

“You know” Jotaro began, “I know facts and trivia are lost on you two. You’re too busy thinking about your next meal, but you may find it interesting to know that the building we’re standing in was completed in 1902, and at the time it was considered one of the tallest buildings in New York City. In 1940, after moving to the United States with his wife Suzi Q and his mother Lisa Lisa, Joseph and his wife purchased this very property, and not long after that, my mother was born.” “Well, that’s cool” uttered Okuyasu.

“SHUT UP. Ever since we left Morioh you two have been on an unscheduled sabbatical, cackling about food and free loading. Now that we’re here, you need to listen to me” “OKAY” both said in unison, “Sorry Jotaro”. “Ok whatever, anyhow, this building had two architects, Frederick Dinkelberg and Daniel Burnham. What’s funny, this penthouse suite originally belonged to Daniel Burnham, but what’s most important is that his initials are D.B.” “D... B... I don’t get it” said Josuke. “Well” started Jotaro, “I wasn’t planning on teaching class today, but I suppose I also wasn’t planning on the old man being murdered” “MURDERED?!” Jotaro paused again, “...so I’ll just put it this way. There’s only one man who was the plague of the Joestar family for the better part of a century, and his name had the same initials. Dio Brando”. “But isn’t Dio dead?” said Josuke. “He was. He is. I mean, I definitely killed him, inherited his stand the World, me and the old man even watched his vampiric essence disintegrate into the morning sun”

“But it’s too much of a coincidence for the old man to have died so suddenly. That and, to be frank, I’ve been doing some investigating of my own lately. Here’s what I’ve found”

Morioh, Japan. Back to our friends and their new elderly associate.

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kcnevijay · 6 years ago

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The Monk in the Painting

Prologue

Dissonance. I was trapped in this hole and paralyzed by dissonance. It was the type of fear that sparks instant regret, the type of fear that makes you forget every moment in your past, and pray to God for just one more sliver of life in the future. It was a fear that compelled me to make a devout promise to God to change, to repay the debts of my immorality, my laziness and my lack of faith, but it was too late. It was dark, and all I could hear was dissonance. I couldn’t wake up, because this wasn’t a dream, it was real.

I finally awakened. My brow was saturated with sweat, but despite my uneasiness, I at least found solace in knowing that everything I was feeling was just a dream. It felt real, but it was merely a bad dream, and sometimes bad dreams are just that. I sat at the edge of my bed, the mattress conforming to my body and forming a sort of chair. It was an old mattress, but being that I lived a humble life, having taken a vow of poverty before officially becoming a monk, it was to be expected. Life may have been humble, and I may have not had the luxuries that came with the lives of others, but I was happy because I had something greater, the love of God. Still, a man who loves God shouldn’t have dreams like that. I pondered the why and the how. If it was a vision, I don’t know of what it could be. It was dark, I was paralyzed. I thought it may be a demon, perhaps I was possessed. “Nonsense” I thought, I’ve had the soul of God inside me for years now, there’s no room for evil to manifest itself. And, even though I did not grow up the poster child for morality, I knew it could not be that. Perhaps it was the painting.

There exists a space in the monastery where the monks keep paint bottles, brushes, palettes and canvases. Sometimes I find myself there, meditating over the colors and letting time and emotion flow through my brush strokes. On this day, I had amassed a myriad of reddish mixtures I had concocted on my palette, and I was trying to freehand an abstract version of a rose. It wasn’t the prettiest or most exquisite rose I’d ever seen, but I wasn’t concerned with that. I knew the purpose of the paint was to ease my mind and be at peace. The thought occurred to me that the canvas is always blank when I start a piece, and yet my mind is full. But, when I finish, my mind is blank and the canvas is the compilation of everything I ejected from it. “That must be why it’s so therapeutic”, I said out loud, as a monk next to me gave me a dirty look. He was probably meditating and the words I said made no sense to him.

“People love making sense of things”, I thought to myself, remembering the monk’s look of disgust. “People often fear the things they can’t figure out. This can be the unknown, an outlier, the blank space that people often feel the need to fill in, even God”. I’ve often found that, like my paintings, life is often shaped just as much by the negative space as the space where the paint makes its mark. It is people who tend to focus on the impact, rather than the circumstances that shape it.

I was toiling with my red mixtures, letting my hand flow with all the grace and free will I could give it. Hard angled strokes, soft shadows, today I was letting go and I didn’t know where the brush would take me next; hopefully to the end of this session. I was hungry, but didn’t want to eat before I’d reached a stopping point, for fear the paint would dry. I had grown to not be so judgmental, but I myself had despised being wasteful. I stroked the canvas once more and stopped. How curious? The painting I had begun no longer resembled a rose, but somehow it was still mildly familiar. Suddenly, I froze... There on the canvas, staring right back at me, but without any eyes to see, was a demon. I was fearful, but at the same time astounded that such a beautiful thought could lead to such an evil result, and to be honest, there was a moment I thought I must be possessed. “Nonsense”, I said aloud. The monk from earlier had walked in the room again, right as I spoke. He then proceeded to walk right back out, looking down at the floor and shaking his head. “He must think I’m crazy”, I thought. But I WAS out of my mind. I’d just gone down a dark path when all I’d intended to do was a therapeutic exercise, and it shook me to my core.

As far as the dream, I didn’t understand that either. It had me thinking about every THING, every THOUGHT and every moment in my life that had ever occurred or had the slightest impact on me. I also found myself thinking I was in grave danger, but I wasn’t. I looked outside, and though the Sun was a day older, and the clouds held differences in their shape that the human eye couldn’t differentiate with time, the morning was just as magnificent. Still, I felt disturbed. I decided that I would go see my master, the wise monk who had crossed my path at just the right time in my life, and whom I had followed ever since.

To say my master is wise is to say a fruit is delicious or that a woman is beautiful. The phrase has been so cheapened over time that the special nature of this particular set of circumstances requires a different kind of language. My master is the closest representation of God in a human being that I’ve ever known. After all, I had prayed to, but had never met Jesus or the Virgin Mary. I’d also never met Mohammed, Gandhi, Haile Selassie, Confucius or any other spiritual teacher who had the faith I sought after so desperately now. I never had to the money to travel, to go to those temples, visit religious sites and experience the catharsis that others had, but none of that mattered, because God had placed the person who could make all those things happen in my life, just at the moment I had decided to give up.

“Master”, I said. I had a sheepish grin on my face, but he knew I couldn’t hide my true feelings, even for a moment. “My son” he began, “I know what you have come for. Plea-“ “You do?” I interrupted frantically, “Master, I apologize, but I’m so wor-“He raised a single digit of his hand and said “Please have a seat, opposite me.” I had interrupted him. “This is not good”, I thought. Surely this would not bode well for what he was about to say. Perhaps he would scold me or tell me I was cursed, and that I could stay in the monastery no longer. Perhaps it was worse. Perhaps he had sent on word to the authorities of the local township, that I was a heretic and had been practicing dark magic in the confines of the monastery, the penalty for which was death by burning. I knew I wasn’t a heretic, but I’d seen many others who weren’t, still killed nonetheless. Even so, I had an appetite for overreacting. I can recall many friends telling me the same, as well as the woman I fell in love with. She would also point out my selfishness, my tendency to talk too much, even talking over others sometimes, which is what I had just done. I had grown of course, but I was still that person after all this time. The master seemed calmed, not angry at all. But, if he knew, how could he not be? The devil was afoot, possibly inside of me, what was I going to do? How could I manage? I said nothing, and sat silently in the prison of my own thoughts, and then he spoke.

“You have come because you have seen what evil lurks within you, and you are afraid that you cannot drive it out. You worst fear is not only that you cannot kill it, but that the evil that lurks inside of you is you, and that FATE will guide you through a life of misery and evil deeds for which you have no control, until you die”. He paused, leaned over a bowl he had positioned nearby and lit some incense in it before recessing back into his former seated position on the floor. He then looked at me, and though I tried to avert my eyes, my Master held my gaze. “The doubt you have is the ONLY way that evil can seep into your soul, because those that truly KNOW God know that evil may win its battles, but it will never win the war. Those that truly know GOD also know that the battles that evil has won are only won because God has willed it, and because man must learn through its own free will. But ultimately, no matter what our choices, we will all one day reach the same place of enlightenment, not because of FATE, but because God is steering humanity through the funnel of truth; specifically the most powerful truth that exists, love.”

My master paused. It seemed like he wanted to give me time to absorb the profoundness of the words he’d just uttered to me, so that my soul might understand and learn the lesson he was teaching. “I am not preaching at you like many preachers do, high atop a wooden podium, behaving as if it was a throne. I am not judging you as they do with the heretics in the square or the women of the street, for the same people who often judge those women in public are found engaging with them in private, or thinking impure thoughts about them in the confines of their home, and I am also NOT sitting here in judgment of THOSE men either. Man will make the decisions man makes, even if it’s the wrong road that man takes. But beneath all roads is the work of God. So, it does not matter what road man takes or how many more roads man makes, for man will eventually embrace the will of God.” “But isn’t that fate?”, I said, right as he finished his statement. I had almost done it again, and I was beating myself up internally for lacking the ability to shut up and listen. “No”, uttered my master, with a slightly irritated tone.

“Fate is for the man who believes his disease has driven him to let go of the joys of life, to dwell in past happiness and to abuse the ones he loves, because he feels he doesn’t deserve their love, so he BECOMES the person who deserves nothing. Fate is for the woman who believes she is relegated to a life with an abusive partner, no matter what she does, and that she should either accept it or remain single forever. Fate is for the one who believes they have no control in their life, and that everything was set in stone long before they were born, so all day they think to themselves, “I am destined to fail as I am destined to die. Surely, there’s no point in making an effort then”. FATE is for the weary. FAITH is for the strong! I have faith in God, and I have faith that if I walk outside right now, tomorrow or the next day I WILL be able to deal with the conditions. I do not fear that my steps are predestined and that the weather won’t agree with my journey. I adapt and I persevere because I have faith that there is a higher power that will give me the strength I need to win out over the elements.” He paused again.

“Your faith is waning my son. Since you entered this monastery you have sought peace, and you have found it. You’ve sought joy and the humility of our circumstances has taught you to find joy in any situation. Now, all that is in jeopardy, because you have run into something that made you doubt everything you knew to be true. But the demons of this world can be deceptive in that way, because they thrive on weak people and those who do not believe.” I was beginning to zone out and the man speaking, who was 30 yrs my elder, took notice and paused until I came to, maintaining his gaze with me the entire time to amplify my feeling of embarrassment. He then began to speak once more.

“My son, it is through a lack of belief that people embrace bad habits, particularly those involving material things, which we know the devil has dominion over. People drink excessively, shop endlessly and scour the world for the material means to fill the void in their heart, but they lack understanding of one key fact. That void cannot be filled the same way the foundation for a house is poured, or the same way that a piece of clothing can be stitched with thread and needle. It is a spiritual void, and it is only through faith that it can be filled.” The master got up from where he was sitting and proceeded to open a window and let in some fresh air. “Do not let others that want you to fail put failure in your heart. If you fail at anything in life, it will be because you chose to give up. And remember this as well, God knows every decision we will ever make in our lives, but the decisions are not God’s, but ours to make”. The master then got up, said he had spent enough time with me, and led me out the door.

Vested in my future, but doubting how to change it, I awakened the next day and decided to go for a walk after morning prayers and breakfast. One of the monks took a lot of pride whenever it was his turn to help with the cooking duties. He was very rotund, so I was not surprised how well he knew his way around a kitchen, but his food always had an ability to regulate my mood and bring about agreeable feelings. Today was no different. “I’m already off to a good start”, I thought. The monk who had looked at with disgust the previous day looked at me again, but this time with a smile of comfort and ease. “He must feel the same way I feel about this breakfast”, I thought. “It was quite good, wasn’t it?”, I said to the bespectacled monk. His smile transformed into a look of indifference and he walked away. “How rude” I thought, “And for a spiritual man to behave that way. He must be another one of these zealots who believes he knows more than us”. But he did. In all honesty, he’d been there so long, he probably had countless lessons to teach. Today though, he chose to teach me with a tool I wasn’t fond of, silence. It occurred to me that I’d often thought of becoming a monk growing up, but never quite liked the idea of taking a vow of silence. “Why silence yourself, when there is so much to say”, I thought. Perhaps the world is too full of thoughts and words, and people trying to use those components to change it, and silence, like the negative space in my paintings is what gives the words their prominence.

“My paintings”, I said aloud. I was an avid painter at the monastery, so it wasn’t just for my own therapy that I painted. We would even sell my paintings to people in the local town, as well as nobles and royal families nearby, and give the proceeds of those sales to feed the poor, take care of the sick. I was a little prideful of my gift, but when I thought to think more of myself, I humbled myself in knowing that it was possible they might not have bought those paintings because they were well done. Perhaps, they were just trying to contribute to charity, or perhaps they wanted a piece so they can point to it and tell their friends, “I must tell you about the monk who paints, he’s quite the character”. Indeed, I was. It was hard to imagine that my clownish personality blended in so well at the monastery, but the other monks enjoyed my antics, even that crotchety old monk who had been rude to me the past few days. “There you go with your ego again”, I thought, “Maybe he’s going through something”. “And Maybe he’s got a stick up his a-”, I stopped. “I’m better than this, perhaps I’ll talk to him later about the matter. But, for now, it’s time to walk”.

When I exited the monastery I took a road that led past a church through the streets of a local town, past a few farms and finally, to a dirt path, the path I’d already pre-selected in my mind, because it had all the peace and quiet I needed to figure out the solution to my problem. I do enjoy my role in society as a minister of faith and a religious figure, but sometimes you just want to be able to walk down the street without a soul telling you all about their problems, asking for advice, even asking for forgiveness. I was fine with it for the most part, but today I needed time to myself. I came across a wild row of red carnations along a certain part of the path. There crouched down to take in their aroma and began my usual ritual of philosophizing and contemplating the beauties of the world.

“We must always count our blessings. We don’t always need to plant a garden to appreciate it’s fruits. This world is a garden, and God’s fruits are so vast that you don’t need to be anywhere but where you are to appreciate them. It’s so funny tha-” I stopped my thoughts for a moment. There was a rustling in the grass. It could be an animal, but my mind automatically went to the worst possible scenario. “It’s clearly a demon... It heard what my master said, and he’s come here to murder me before I figure out what I need to do!” Of course just as I was thinking this, out of the grass came a small brunette boy dressed in overalls and the type of clothes a mother puts on a child when she knows he’s going to spend the rest of the day getting dirty with the enthusiasm of a pig. “Hey”, said the boy. “Hi” I said reprovingly. Perhaps there was a lesson here, but I was still young enough that I didn’t want to learn on God’s terms. I wanted to learn on mine.

“Are you a monk?”, said the boy. This question bothered me. Of course I was a monk, why else would I dress this way, but then again, in this day and age, people often disguise themselves as something they’re not. So, I replied, “Yes, I’m a monk, I'm a Franciscan actually”. “Oh, ok”, said the boy, “I was wondering why you were out here in that outfit. It doesn’t seem very practical”. I thought to myself, what did this boy know about practical? After all, he was just a boy, but he was also dirty and I suspected that, if I took a step closer, he would reveal that he smelled very foul as well. “My habit is not meant to be practical! It represents my commitment and the sacrifices I make for GOD! What is your name?” “Samuel”, replied the boy. “Well Samuel, how can I help you?” I knew it was was my duty to help all my brothers/sisters around me, but I thought that perhaps, if I listened to the boy’s problems, he would leave me be. “Oh, I’m just looking for treasure. I don’t really need your help, but if you’d like to come along, you’re more than welcome”. The boy stopped speaking momentarily and I looked to the heavens. I was partly wishing it was a demon that came out of that tall grass. Spending time with Samuel was beginning to feel like a worse alternative. “Come on!” the boy said, “It’ll be fun! But call me Sam, my mother calls me Samuel”. And so, I had decided to follow the boy, and call him Sam, because his mother called him Samuel.

In Matthew’s Gospel, Christ said we should be like a child, but 1st Corinthians told me to put away childish things when I became a man, so I had my work cut for me with Sam. “It came to me in a dream” he said, “There’s a treasure, and I’m going to find it. And then I’m going to use my riches to build my mom a nice house and show her how much I love her”. “That’s very nice Sam, what does your mom do?”. He sighed, “She’s a maid for one of the noble families, she works really hard, and I rarely see her, but she takes good care of me. My dad left us when I was 2, so I’m all she has”. "I'm sorry to hear that Sam", I honestly felt bad for the boy, and I regretted wanting to shoo him away earlier. I had no idea what he was dealing with internally, and I realized that I was selfish to not consider that the boy might truly need someone. I also surmised that he probably was NOT looking for treasure, but a means to distract himself from the tragedies of his life, and I could certainly understand that. After all, I had my master, but I had chosen to take a walk outside the monastery because I felt alone in my struggle, unable to relate to my peers, and wanting to talk to the only thing that truly understood me, God.

"You know Sam" I began, "God loves you, and he also loves your mom." "I know" Sam said, "that's why he told me about the treasure, and even though you don't believe me, I'm going to find it, because I have faith". Sam seemed to know more than he let on, I had at no point indicated that I didn't believe the treasure existed, but perhaps my deflections and my lack of enthusiasm is what lead him to that assumption. And he was right, but there's no way he could've known about the conversation I'd had with my Master the previous day. Even so, I decided to prod further, "What do you know about faith Sam?"

"I know the stories, the ones about the mustard seed, the sower too, and I know that it's the glue for all the mysterious forces around us, the miracles that we can't explain. I've also noticed that the faith of children is often greater than that of those who are older. You were probably once like me, fun-loving and careless in the midst of danger, because you had faith that everything would work out, but you changed over time. Now you doubt yourself. You think being a monk would lessen the doubt, but it's still there, preying on you like a predator that waits until nightfall to hunt." The boy was much wiser than I'd thought, and to be honest, I was growing quite fond of him. "Samuel", I said, "You are right. As we age, man tends to tell himself more about all the things he can't do, rather than realize that everything is possible when will and faith are present".

"That's right", said the boy. "We are the only barriers to our own greatness". He was right, leave it to a child to explain the simplicity of happiness. It was like he knew the exact words I needed to hear. "Where did you learn all this Sam?", I asked. "My mother used to read me the bible and I learned some of the parables through my catechism, but I mostly learned the things I know from being outside in the world. Having a teacher stand next to a black board is nice when you're in a classroom and need to pass an exam, but life's tests are much harder. I found it much better to be out in the world, learning it's intricacies first hand."

"So I gather that you're not in school then?", I said laughing. The boy didn't laugh, his cheeks turned red with embarrassment and he shrugged, "No. I'm not". "Well" I said, as Sam looked to my next words with the vulnerability of someone who wasn’t sure if they’d said too much, "I'm actually quite impressed. For a boy with hardly any schooling, and of such a young age... How old are you?". The boy said he was 10. I had a brief thought that he was at the gateway of some major changes to his life, and the hope that when they came, he would maintain the same thirst for optimism and knowledge that I saw before me. "You are quite articulate Sam. You're also somewhat advanced in philosophy for your age, as well as the use of components that most boys and girls your age don't understand. Since you gave me advice on my faith, without even knowing you did, I will give you advice on your life now." "You will?", said the boy, hanging on my every word. "Yes. I will. Let's have a seat below that tree over there. My habit may be part of my sacrifice to God, but I think we've both sacrificed enough, standing in this heat".

The boy sat down in the shade, with the monk at his side, both of their backs against the trunk. The trunk itself was thick, and its branches formed the type of structure that clearly took many years to achieve. I always thought to myself, "There is no magic fertilizer for such trees, just time and the elements", and it was the perfect place for two friends to meet and chat about the wondrous joys of life, as well as its faults. A ladybug landed on the boy's finger, a good omen of luck in many cultures, and I began to speak. "Sam, a couple of hours ago we were on different paths, but it appears that, despite having different destinations, our paths have converged for the time being, so I want you to listen to what I'm going to tell you, ok?" The boy nodded. "First of all, I will neglect the fact that you chose to engage in conversation with a complete stranger, because it’s somethi-" "But you're a monk!", the boy interrupted. I stopped, then responded, "Yes, I am Sam, but just as there are charities that pocket donations and kings who abuse their people, there are priests and monks who abuse THEIR power and THEIR standing in the community, abusing those who cannot fight for themselves. Appearances can be deceiving. I tell you this to advise you that you should ALWAYS be wary of your surroundings". The boy sighed, he felt like he was getting a lecture he never asked to hear. "But THAT is not what I want to tell you". The boy looked back up, and even though we were both seated with our backs to each other, I felt his soul had met my gaze.

"I was not born a monk. I became a monk, but I always had the components to BE a monk. You are looking for treasure, and I can tell you are optimistic about life and the possibilities of what you can achieve. That's good, I'm proud to see that someone your age is so wise. Still, I must warn you. The path to greatness is paved with many doubts you must fight, many deeds you must do, and many demons you must cast out. That does not mean you can’t achieve what you've seen in your dreams, it just means it will not be done with ease... but it can still be done." I paused to make sure the boy was listening, and he was. "Now, let's go see about this treasure. I have no interest in the riches of the earth, but I know the dangers of being on any road alone, so I would like to accompany you on your journey, if it's fine with you." The boy smiled, he had made a new friend, "It's fine” he said, “you can come along, but you have to tell me your name."

"It may surprise you, and I assure you that I’m telling the truth, I am a monk after all”, I laughed, “but my name is Samuel, just like yours, but you can just call me Brother”. “I thought you said I shouldn’t trust monks. How do I know you’re not pulling my leg?”, the boy questioned. “You don’t Sam, but part of making a commitment is trusting the person you’re in a commitment with”. The boy understood, and from that moment on, he was Sam and I was Brother, sometimes affectionately called “Big Brother”, a term I both loathed and loved, depending on my mood.

“Big Brother?”, said the boy. “Yes Sam?”. “What happens if there is no treasure?”, he asked. I responded, “What makes you think there isn’t?”. “Well, you don’t seem to have much faith that there is”. “Listen”, I said, “If you begin determining that the way you feel and the things you believe in are solely based on the thoughts of others, I assure you that you will never achieve anything, and life will be a very dismal experience”. The boy shrugged. “I don’t say that so you’ll stop believing” I continued, “I say this so you will believe more in yourself, and trust your instincts. Scientists will tell you that instincts and intuition are an evolutionary trait or that it’s something genetic, biological or psychological. I say that instincts and intuition are synonymous, and it comes from God. And really, both I and the scientists are saying the same thing, because I believe that God created biology, genetics, the mind and the idea of evolution in this reality of ours. It’s just that a lot of scientists don’t believe in God, just like a lot of people wouldn’t believe in your treasure, but that doesn’t mean the treasure doesn’t exist”.

The boy smiled and appeared to find this answer satisfactory, and we were both quiet for a time. I began to think again of the painting, but not with terror like before. I was beginning to think it was a good Omen, that it had led me to this boy, and that I had found more good works to perform. It made me feel a feeling of fulfillment in my soul, something best defined by the Greek definition of love, known as agape. As I was thinking this, we were crossing through a meadow full of yellow flowers when we came across a pair of men sitting beneath a tree with few leaves and fewer branches. They appeared to be a docile coupling, but still weary, I kept an eye on them as we came closer. One of the men jumped to his feet and approached us. “Good afternoon brother, you’re awfully far from the monastery”, said the man who approached us. His friend watched from the tree, with the posture of someone who seemed slightly off in a way I could not yet comprehend. Perhaps he was drunk. “Yes”, I said, “I am accompanying this young man to his town. I told him of the dangers of traveling alone, and wanted to give him safe passage”. The man retorted, “Yes, the brother is right boy. One should never travel alone. The roads that run between these towns are littered with evil men that could cause you harm, and predatory animals that could kill you in moments and devour you before the sun rises tomorrow. You should always be very careful, and aware of your surroundings on roads such as these.” The man was giving the same advice I had earlier, but with a much more ominous tone that I neither had the time nor the appreciation for. “That’s all fine and good, but the boy is in good hands. I grew up in this country and I know it’s roads well. I also know its snakes, its wolves, and”, I paused to meet the gaze of the man, “Its devils”.

“Surely brother, you’re not referring to me?”, the man said with a smile that suggested he was searching for a moment of weakness during which to strike. “Of course not my son, I am simply giving you the same advice you gave the boy. Everybody needs guidance, just like everybody needs God. Those who feel they don’t need to ask for help or advice simply lack the courage to ask. I’m simply answering questions you feel but have not yet verbalized”. “Very good”, said the man. His friend had gotten up and had begun to approach. He then said, “Well, brother Samuel, I appreciate your guidance”. He somehow knew my name. “Me and my friend are going to move on now, but you and the boy take care. May you find the destination you seek, and may the devils you paint never manifest.” I stood there stunned, but not surprised. After all, I had known who this man was before he had even spoken a word. He was a demon, and his friend was nothing more than a drunk, being plagued by his personal devil. The man and his devil departed from us, and the boy asked, “How did that man know you’re name? And what was that bit about the painting about?”. I told the boy the man was a demon, and that this is why boys shouldn’t travel alone. I told him that had he been alone, that he could’ve convinced his friend to rob the boy, and upon finding that he had no money, the boy would surely be murdered, or worse, raped. The boy was quite disturbed by this, but I told him that this was the world we lived in. It didn’t change the fact that dreams were achievable, and that anything was possible through God. It just meant that one must have the tools to fight the forces of evil and not be deterred or worried by the consequences that could and would occur.

We moved on. Somehow I knew I had to teach this boy. He had no one. His mother was preoccupied with making a living to give him the opportunities he needed to succeed. He had the potential to achieve greatness, but had not yet gotten there. Treasure or not, he needed to find himself, because I was concerned his formative years would kill his spirit, and God told me he needed a guide.

The interaction with the demon had given me courage and restored the faith I once had in my abilities to fight evil, even if one day I might fall to its devices. So I began to tell the boy about love, from the love one has for God to the love one has for another human being, the love one feels in partnership, and the string that attached them all to the same fabric. The boy was fascinated, and he asked many questions. He even asked me if I’d been in love. I knew I had, so I told him of the time and the feeling, and how it didn’t work out because I was young and lacked maturity. I told him that such occurrences are common, but that God also gives second chances to those who show a profound propensity to change. The only difference is that my change came in the form of entering into the life of a monk, but the boy would surely learn his own calling as he got older.

It was nightfall when we entered the town that would be our destination. The boy and I were tired from a day of travel, and decided to find a place to stay. I had never been to this town before, but was luckily able to locate a man I knew via some charity work he had done with the monastery. He said he didn’t mind providing us with a place to stay, as it was certainly God’s will, and that he could even give us each our own rooms. I thanked the man, we cleaned ourselves up in the shower he had provided us and went into the town to share a meal. The boy ate voraciously the Cod that the cook had prepared for us, and even looked on enviously as I drank the wine that the bartender graciously provided. I had never taken advantage of the respect I was given as a religious man in the community, but a week like this called for a drink or two to relax the nerves. The boy was too young to embibe, so I only gave him a sip, to which he gave a look as if he had swallowed a glass of lemon juice. Someday he would understand, but it wasn’t important to teach him THAT lesson right now. I tried to tip the owner of the bar for his troubles with what little I had, but he refused me, so I gave him my blessing and we departed.

I bid the boy good night, told him to pray to his guardian angel and go straight to bed. In the morning we would have to search for his treasure and, whether or not we found it, we would have to head back hastily to be able to get him back to his home by nightfall. He agreed, and went to his room. I went to mine, removed my habit and began to pray the rosary. I was thankful to God for putting this boy in my life, and for showing me once again that my doubt was in vain, just like his Apostle Thomas. I was getting ready to get into bed when I heard what sounded like a muffled scream.

I opened the door to my room, and ran down the hallway to where the boy was supposed to be sleeping. I swung open the door with great voracity, and there, pressing the boy’s head down into a pillow with one hand, while ripping off his clothes with the other, was the drunkard we had seen in the meadow. I couldn’t see where his friend was, the one whom I had conversed with earlier, but I felt the demon’s presence. “GET AWAY FROM THAT CHILD” I yelled. “But brother...” said a calm voice, appearing to be the voice of the demon, but now coming out of the mouth of the drunken man who had his knees on the boy’s back, “Do you not want to show the boy the dangers of the road? He must learn the consequences of meddling with the forces of evil”. “YOU ARE ABOUT TO LEARN ABOUT THE CONSEQUENCES OF MEDDLING WITH THE FORCES OF THE ONE THAT CREATED YOU.” The demon continued to speak through his medium, “My creator gave me dominion of this place, and you know this. After all, how else was I able to penetrate the walls of your monastery and show you the face of the one true god? This man, who is about to violate your friend in accordance with MY will, is going to demonstrate how the world really works, showing you that there is no savior, there is NO God, and there is NOTHING you can do about it. NOW COWER BEFORE ME AND SEE MY GREATNESS!” I wondered where the owner was, but decided that didn’t matter. I sprung into action and ran towards the bed, jumping onto the back of the possessed man. He tried to shake me off, but I held tightly to his neck, shoving the rosary I had into his mouth and saying the most devout prayer I could, yearning for the higher power I believed in to put a stop to this. The man’s mouth foamed and steam began to seep out. His eyes had rolled into the back of his head and he was convulsing. I yelled out the commands I was taught to use in the monastery when exorcising demons, not far off from those seen in Hollywood films about topics of this nature, except this was real. The man was strong, or perhaps the demon had engorged his muscles with blood and made him this way. Still, I was not going to let go. I was not going to let him hurt this boy and take his innocence.

Suddenly, the owner burst into the room with a gun, “MOVE OUT THE WAY BROTHER SAMUEL!”. “NO!” I proclaimed, “HAVE FAITH, AND LET GOD TAKE CARE OF THIS” It was then that the man began resisting less. The prayers were working. I was finally able to pull him off the bed, at which point he fell into a fetal position on the floor and spit out the rosary. His body was still shaking slightly, still steaming but I knew the demon had left him because he was now crying. He looked up at me and told me he did not know where he was or what had happened. I told him, and he cried out in horror at the thought that he was about to defile a boy, something he’d never felt compelled to do in his life. I gathered from the story he told that he had been possessed for some time. He’d lost his job, lost his family consequentially, then turned to drinking and begging for change on the street to supplement his habit. It was like he was seeing me for the first time. He didn’t even recall seeing me in the meadow. “My son” I said, still breathing heavily from the physical struggle that had just occurred, “The present moment has brought you clarity. Do not worry about the past, forgive yourself, and realize that God forgives you too. Tomorrow, I want you got go forth and rectify the wrongs you have done, so that you may turn away any further demons and live happily, in the grace of God”. The man was still shivering with shock, but nodded, and apologized again. “It’s ok” I said, “You did not know the vessel you had become, it was simply a lesson for the future”. I spoke to the owner and asked if he had a cot so that the boy might sleep in my room, and the formally possessed man sleep in the boy’s room The owner protested, but I was able to use my standing as a spiritual teacher to convince him the man was only momentarily troubled. I then went to pray with the man before he went to bed, then back to the room where both I and the boy would sleep.

“I didn’t get to tell you...Tthank you big brother”, said the boy, as he got comfortable in his cot. It wasn’t as comfortable as the bed, but considering the trauma of what he just went through, the boy was grateful just to have made it through unscathed. “Don’t thank me” I said in a moment that was a mixture of sheepishness and humility, “Thank God, not just for this moment, but all the moments you were saved and didn’t know it. You should do this every day because tomorrow is not promised and the present is exactly what it is called, a gift. A gift from God”.

We awoke the next day and the owner of the house provided us with breakfast. Seated at the table was the oddest group of diners you’d ever witness; A monk, an attempted rapist, the man who almost shot the attempted rapist the previous night and the boy he had tried to assault. I, having no shame for recognizing the reality of the situation, explained that this was one of the greatest examples of God’s grace and our potential to change, even if society has deemed us as deplorable. This is what Jesus preached. We finished our breakfast, I bid the man farewell, and we went our separate ways, but not before giving us some insight on the treasure the boy had openly described at breakfast. “We’d better find this treasure soon” I thought, “This boy is bound to tell the whole town about it if we wait around long enough”. The man, who luckily was not interested in finding the treasure, informed us both that the church where the boy had imagined finding it seemed to be very much like a church in the center of town, so we say our goodbyes to the man, and proceeded in that direction. When we got there, I realized something interesting and very coincidental. This was the church I was baptized in. I knew this because my mother had told me the name, and somehow the fact that I knew the name of the town had slipped my mind earlier. Still, I had never been to the place itself as an adult. “How curious”, I thought.

The boy had spoken several times of the dream on our journey, in it he had traveled a great distance to this town, guided by some mysterious force, until he found himself in the sacristy of this church. Underneath the tile, about half the depth that casket would be laid, was a box, and in the box was a multitude of gold coins and jewelry. Well, we were at the sacristy now, but I had no idea how the boy would get permission from the clergy to break up their floor. Certainly, they wouldn’t be happy with that. I went to look to see if anyone representing the church would entertain such a request, but the church was surprisingly empty for this time of day. “Usually this is the time for morning mass, or at least morning prayers”, I thought to myself. Seizing the opportunity, and realizing that, if the boy broke ground, I could probably keep him out of trouble, we both went into the sacristy with a shovel we’d found in what seemed like a utility closet. If we were caught, I could probably tell them the boy was mad, and that I had just burst in to stop him moments before. Surely, that excuse would work. Then, as I took the shovel in my hand to begin digging, the boy turned to me and said, “Now, I think it is time that told you my truth”.

The boy called me to a bench in the sacristy and told me to put the shovel down. “There’s something I need to tell you big brother” he began, “There IS a treasure buried here, just as I imagined it in my dream, this I know. But the treasure is not mine, it’s yours”. He paused, I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I didn’t want to interrupt either. The boy had taught me many things, and it seemed like he had another lesson up his sleeve. “You see” he said, “I am you. You may not recognize me because I took on a form that was unfamiliar to your eye so you wouldn’t realize it, but I am you Samuel, at the age of 10. I’ve lead you all this way, not because of gold, I know you’ve taken a vow of poverty so I know it will likely go to some charitable place, especially since our mother left this planet years ago… I brought you here to show you the treasure you already possess within yourself, and I must say, I’m proud of what I’ve become in you”.

It’s funny, but though one might laugh under circumstances such as these, I felt compelled to listen because in my heart, I knew the boy was telling the truth, and that God had manifested himself in the work of a miracle to teach me a valuable lesson. “Now, that you know your power” said the young Sam, “I don’t want you to ever forget it. Now that you’ve regained your faith, I don’t ever want you to lose it. But, if you do, I want you to know that there is a God and he will oversee your rehabilitation on the road back to his good graces, as long as you submit to him in your moment of need. I love you big brother, always remember to love yourself and to love the world. It is in those good works that you will continue the example set by St. Francis of Assisi in the 12th century. Take care, and God Bless”. And so, just as quickly as the boy with the dirty overalls, who I initially saw as a hindrance, came into my life, he was gone.

Seizing the opportunity yet again, I began to dig with the shovel. I wasn’t even halfway there when I heard a voice from behind my left shoulder. “I see you’ve finally come for the treasure, my son”. I turned around. Standing there was a priest. “Samuel” he said in a tone of deep love and generosity, “Welcome home”.

The priest was an elderly man, but as he explained to me, he was the one who baptized me as a boy, and he had also had visions knowing I would come. In preparation, he had scheduled that the church be empty at the time of Samuel’s arrival, saying the priest wanted a day to meditate alone and pray for the congregation, so as not to arouse suspicion. The priest also had a prepared a bunch of spare tiles that he would lay after Samuel had left. “Seems like quite the intricate plan”, I laughted. “Well, I’ll be honest” said the priest, “This is probably the most exciting thing I’ve done in years. Most days I spend celebrating mass and hearing confessions, but it’s not every day you get to make someone’s dream come true. That being said, I think it’s time you did the deed Samuel. Go ahead. You’ve found the treasure within yourself, now it’s time to find the treasure you seek within the earth. I’ll keep a lookout in the church so no one catches you. Lord knows, these days you might get burned at the stake for such heresy”. He winked, I laughed, then began digging. The treasure was just as the boy described, half the distance of a laid casket and full of real gold and jewelry decorated with Rubies and other magnanimous gems. What an amazing find, and to think it was here all this time. But what was I to do with it. I was just a simple monk, and I had no room for riches in my life. Even more important, how would I get this back to monastery?

“There’s a man with a horse and carriage outside” the priest said, “I’ve paid him to take you back to the monastery. You can throw the gold in this sack I’ve prepared, which should be able to hold more than it’s weight, and you should be able to get back safely”. I retorted in amazement, “Wow, you really think of everything”. “No, I don’t” laughed the Priest, “but God does”.

Epilogue

When I’d returned to the monastery, my master was waiting. Awaiting an angry welcome, with a lot of scolding and a multitude of criticisms for my absence and leaving behind my responsibilities, I was surprised to hear him laugh and say, “Ah, my son, I see you brought treasure! I hope you brought enough to share with everyone!” It was an old pun he’d always used about charitable works and how important it was to share, but this was probably the most fitting moment he would ever have to use it. I chuckled, “We’ll have to figure out something, I came back because I know my calling was that of a Franciscan, and not a rich man with land and many servants”.

“That’s right” he said, “Because you know God rewards those who give away their possessions, and fills their hearts with agape.” He couldn’t have been more right, and in that moment I couldn’t have been more glad to see my master than ever before. “So, how would you like to use your newfound riches, Brother Samuel”. I stopped for a minute and thought, “Well, in my recent travels, I’ve realized that the people of this town are in great need of an educational institution, and a means to take care of children, the ones who’s parents work or are not in their lives. So, would it be possible to build a school that also houses orphans and other troubled youth? And, would it possible to use this gold to guarantee that their education is free, as well as room and board?”

“I don’t see why not” my master said, “Anything is possible through God. Anything.”

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