I mean, yeah, the guy's always lotus sitting, eyes closed,

dozing, sleeping, and if not, he's all laid down. And they call him
the awakened, the one who could wake up - The Buddha.
People around here have a sense of humor it seems.
Buddhas do not all have slanting eyes. Tourists, for example,
are all Buddhas, all awakened. Even Australian tourists are.
Barnie Backpacker was all destined to spend his whole life in
his native fortified and well guarded Palace, as one of the Chosen
Sons of Democracy that he was promised to become, whether in
Europe, in Europe's ex-settlements (The U.S.A, Australia, New-
Zealand), or in Japan, Dubai, and Singapore, enjoying ow, in
England too, are you sure ? enjoying endless industrial products
bacchanalia, brought to him from all around the courtesan world,
through a Divine redeeming process called economical coloniza-
tion, and making absolutely useless, the will to discover the
world's beauties and diversity, called curiosity. He had
everything, a rational human being could ever think of. He even
had no fear of death, as he was confident, another world would
come, with an Eternal life, cleared of all sufferings and pointless
beings, such as seaweed, mosquitoes, or clandestine immigrants.
But then, somehow, Barnie B. was told there were places in
this world, outside the walls of his Palace, where a pint of lager
cost something like 20 cents of a dollar. Places where the monthly
salary of a worker was no more than 2 dollars a day. Places where
he could not just be rich and powerful, not just a son of God, but
OUTRAGEOUSLY WEALTHY AND OVERPOWERING, al-
most GOD MIGHTY himself. In those conditions, he could not
help, but succumb to curiosity.
Once he finished paying all his taxes, his next-life insurance,
and the credit for his most recent penis enlargement surgery, he
packed his bag and went.
2
And what he saw, would wake him up, for the rest of his life.
Just like the Buddha, first thing Barnie B. saw, in those lands
of savagery and decay, was an old man, crumbing, barely able to
walk on his own. Then he met a plague-ridden boy, whose disease,
it withdrew all dignity from the poor abandoned little being. Then,
he saw a lifeless body on the street. Finally he met a religious man,
meditating, begging for his daily rice and water.
Bernie B. was confused: what was the meaning of life, now
that all of it's threats and inequities were all of a sudden revealed to
his innocent eyes ? What was the point, in staying locked in a
Palace of Gold, when the rest of the world was starving to death ?
What meaning would he give to his life from now on ?
Bernie B. was searching for a God's answer, but it was
nowhere to be found. Still, in God, Bernie B. had faith. He put his
hand on his heart, in search for inspiration, or some divine inter-
vention, and there it was: his wallet, full of On Guts we Trod
bank notes. Just a few of the holy papers were worth a Fortune
here. With just a few of those, he could buy a woman, even two
women, a kid, or a kidney. EVERYTHING was promised to be
his. He had the feeling, he was becoming a God of a new breed.
Bernie B. straight-up forgot all about the old, the sick, the
breathless, and the wise. They were barely more than picture op-
portunities now. Following his lonely plan head, he went to the
best hostess' bar, ran by friendly Russians, had a fresh pint of Dan-
ish lager, sniffed some methylene-dioxy-methamphetamine as-
sembled by French public university graduated chemists, rent a 15
(she looked 22) year old local prostitute for tonight, and
thought:that's a damn backpacker's life, Bernie.
In all the meantime, the sleepy guy was still lotus sitting, his
eyes closed not to sleep, but not too see. A thought first crossed his
mind: may all the Barnies in the world, get lost!, then a more
compassionate one: may they all find their ways, and then he re-
membered his Master's teaching: nothing ever lost, nothing ever
found: it is all transformations.