I could not recognize him. But I must. He knew –but how? I did not ask him what I knew was the question, because I had forgotten it. Looking at his face, my worse fears, even if I did not possess them before this very instant, were realized. I was realized. I was understood. I was known. My soul sank in a disillusioning type of déjà vu; I currently recollected that I had feared that this would happen. Far back in my memory, I knew that I had wanted this, but not until I saw presently did I know what it was.
“You–” He was there, but he could not see that he was; but he knew. He knew that I was there, but he was blind. I could not see myself, but he could. I did not want to believe I was there, but I was, for he was the one who knew it, and so –my consciousness was held captive by his. I was present in the place because of his knowing, and because of my seeing of his knowing. Am I really this contained by what I think that I see?
Around him, a world of people I knew, who he should not have known, but he did; he does. But I knew them, and I could see them. So how could it be that he knew that they were there, how could he know them, knowing I knew them, but not him? But I did know him, for he knew me, and there was such a knowing in his presence, that my presence leaned upon it for support. He knew that I did not know him, but he knew that I do, that is, that I would, but I know now that I did, even when I thought I did not.
“Will–” Inclining my body to receive his slow and deliberate speech, I attempted to comprehend the words which I could see he knew I already knew. But how did he know this? How could he possibly know that I already knew? How could he say “you will” and know that which I know to be untrue? Where could he possibly have obtained the notion that I knew what he was going to say, or that I knew it was right? But I did. Though, even in the moment of recognition that he knew I knew, I could not remember what it was that I knew –I only knew that I knew it… or that I know it now.
What will I do? What will I be? What will do I have? Or do I have a will, or is it what I would? Could it be that he knows what I, in the future seek to be? He cannot, for I cannot know, nor do I –but I knew at that moment that I did, or do, know it. Perhaps he knows what I, regardless of my seeking and desiring, am. But how could he know presently what is still future for me? How could he know now that I “am” in some other time, especially when I know that I “am not” now, yet then, thought I would not? I do not know, but he did.
“Not–” Could it be he would so understand the ridiculous nature of this dialogue? He knew as well as I that it could not be. At no time was this possible. At the exact moment that I could possibly not be, that was the precise moment he would not know me. If he knew me so well, he also must know that with his present knowing there was no possibility ever, in any time, that I could “not.” His supreme knowing, his surety of my presence and my future existence presently negated the possibility of my ever ceasing to be. My presence in this strange place was proved and upheld by him.
His words sought to give me an identity, but he knew not his place. I knew it. It was in a park, near a shoreline. And along the gravel path which I had followed there was a tree positioned on the right, beneath this tree was a bench, and upon this bench he sat. I knew this; I could see it. He did not know it, but he knew me, he knew my presence. My present ability to see him gave me confidence that he actually was –but he is, or did, tell me that I would not be, that I “will not!” This is logical, so why am I trembling, –not then; but now.
“Find–” This he could not know! How ever could this man know my seeking? Could he ever assume that he knew there was something which I sought so dearly and completely that my very existence and entire identity was so precariously placed upon it and upon his knowledge of it? Yet, how could I know that this would be? How could I know then that which I know now: that it is, and that is has always been? But I do. And so did he.
But how? I could not be in so precarious a place except through the words of this man, yet by his very words “You will not find it.” Is there the slightest chance that if I was, and he knew, that I could be in the future what he knew me to be then? If so, then how in that same future, in which I presently am speaking to him, could I “not”? For, how then could I be placed in existence so heavily upon my apparent seeking of something which I could not find? Unless, –and I shudder if this is what he knew, yet I know now that it was what he knew then: I have been seeking the only thing upon which my entire existence and identity could be contingent upon; myself.
In utter confusion, I, even now, damage my brain with the seeking of where exactly I could have possibly missed this thing which I search for, seeing as I currently exist. Yet, is this existence more than just of trick of my eyes? Is what I see, actually existing, or, in my search for myself have I actually created it within my mind’s eye, so as to actually obtain it? If, I have created it within my mind’s eye and have begun to seek it, did this man say these things to me so that I could understand now what he already knew then; that if I have created the goal and the means with which to reach it, I could also render my possession of that goal impossible? Maybe this is more possible if I am seeking myself, for if I do not find it, I could not ever finish the journey, nor find my existence.
“No matter how hard you try.”
Then yes, he must know. He must know, for I fear that he was correct; I will try –but I will fail. I know now that I did fail, because he knew then what I know now; the impossibility of my success. And all this because I sought to reach a goal which we both knew was impossible. In that moment I realized that I had not been seeing with my own eyes. He was not blind, no, he could see exceptionally well, and he could see himself, for he could see what I saw; I was seeing through his eyes. This whole world, all these people, even this man, all that I thought I could see and which I thought that I knew, he saw, and he knew. But what did I know? Did I actually know this man?
It was then that I recognized him. It was then that the face which was twisted with the chains of lies and pain, both received and given, began to familiarize itself with me. His face searched mine with the knowing of a friend. –No, more than a friend. At that moment my memory was gripped by the reality; he was not my friend but I knew him and he knew me.
I knew him to be who he knew me to be: myself.
